


Night Call

by wildes



Category: Top Gear (UK) RPF
Genre: Alcohol Abuse, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-01
Updated: 2015-02-18
Packaged: 2018-02-27 15:58:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 31
Words: 69,354
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2698814
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wildes/pseuds/wildes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"If you are not too long, I will wait for you here all my life." - Oscar Wilde</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer - this is a work of fiction.
> 
> This was written for NaNoWriMo 2014. If any of you read my last year's nano, this is pretty much the same as that - except new! (It's also longer, and definitely more explicit, wink wink, nudge nudge.)
> 
> It's finished, but it needs a ton of editing, so please kudos/comment if you like it to encourage me! :)
> 
> The first chapter is set in 2006, just after Richard's accident. I tried to stay away from there, but...  
> Bear with the opening chapter(s), it'll get better.

James

“Can I speak with him?”

James knows his voice is almost desperate, but he can’t help it. He thinks if he could just talk to Richard, just for a moment, it might make him feel a bit better. It might make his mind race a bit less. It might help him catch a couple of hours of sleep without nightmares. James grips the phone tight, his knuckles white.

“I’m so sorry, James. You will remind him of work and he can’t think about work, now - he is already trying to contact journalists as soon as I as much as turn my head for one second.” Mindy gives a joyless laugh. “The doctor said that it’s in his best interest that he doesn’t talk with any of you lot for a while. I am really sorry.”

She sounds sorry, too. Even though it is like a punch in the gut, not being able to talk with Richard now that it would really matter to him, maybe more than ever, he feels sorry for Mindy. She has been so tough for the last couple of weeks, tougher than Jeremy, tougher than any of them. She’s held them all together. 

“He keeps asking about you, you know,” Mindy continues, as if to try to make James feel better. It makes James’ eyes fill up with tears. If anyone should be trying to make anyone feel better, it should be all of them helping Mindy. “He thinks it’s a party we are all at, and he can’t understand why he can’t go and have a pint with you. It’s… tough.”

There is a silence. James desperately wants to tell her is that it’s going to be fine, but he doesn’t trust himself not to cry, so he keeps quiet. He swallows around the lump in his throat. It has been there for days.

“It’s alright, I understand why he can’t talk to me,” James says eventually, as gently as he can muster. It takes a lot of effort to keep his tone steady. “How are you holding up?”

“I’m fine, thank you, James,” she says, but there is a strain to her voice, and James knows that she is far from fine. 

But then, they all are.

*

James goes about his days in a haze, feeling constantly nauseous. Every time his phone goes off with a buzz on the table, he jumps, his heart hammering in his chest, his hands shaking as he picks it up. The caller is more often someone who is worried about him or trying to pry about how Richard is doing than it is Mindy or Andy or Jeremy with actual news about Richard.

Mindy calls him, Jeremy, and Andy in turns. It is frustrating to get the info second or third hand, some days, but he understands why Mindy does it. The list of people Mindy has to call - or would have to call, if she had the energy or the resources to do so - is enormous, and James realises he is lucky to hear from her as often as he does.

It’s Thursday, and James has just woken up from a nightmare. He can’t remember the nightmare exactly, but he knows it had been about Richard, and he can remember the feeling of utter helplessness and grief, his cheeks wet when he opens his eyes to leave his bed and go to the kitchen to have a cup of tea. He picks up the kettle with shaking hands, his heart loud in his chest. Trying to take deep breaths, he goes online, since sleep is out of question for the night. He looks at pictures of various cars for a moment, even considers looking at some porn, but it all feels so wrong. His friend is suffering in a hospital. For him to have a wank at four in the morning would just be wrong.

Eventually he does what he has done every day for the past couple of weeks and fires up Google, reading everything he can find about Richard’s condition. Every article he reads makes him feel worse; according to everything, it would appear that there is little to no hope of Richard making a full recovery. He’s been told countless times by Mindy that there is hope, that the chances are that Richard is going to be absolutely fine. But the more he reads, the less he believes it. The lump in his throat grows bigger, and every time he reaches for his cup of tea, his hand shakes a bit more.

More than once over the weeks, he picks up his keys from the kitchen counter, his intention to just jump in one of his cars and drive back up to Leeds to Richard's hospital. But he knows he wouldn’t be allowed to visit Richard, and when he stops to think about it rationally - which, granted, is very hard - he knows he should just keep out of the way. Everything must be hard enough for Richard’s family without them having to deal with James helplessly hovering around them.

What gets him most of all, though, what makes him ashamed and restless during sleepless nights, is the fact that he is in love with Richard. He has no right to be, now less than ever; yet, now more than ever, he can’t stop thinking about how much he loves Richard and how much better he makes James’ life. It weighs down on his shoulders when he tries to survive from his daily tasks, and chokes him like a string around his throat when he tries to talk to people like nothing is wrong.

Eventually he sends over a packet of Lego with a simple letter saying that he hopes Richard will be better soon. It’s not enough and it’s too much, all at once.

James empties his drinks cabinet. It doesn’t help. Nothing does.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Richard recovers from his accident in Scotland.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, apologies for the opening chapters. It will get better!

Richard

No one had ever told him how exhausting it is to be afraid of everything. 

If there is as much as a noise that surprises him, or a sudden movement in the corner of his eye, he freezes up completely, his chest filling up with anxiety. He has never in his life been so scared, and to be scared of such things as the post coming in early every morning, or one of his kids shrieking suddenly, is horrible. It makes him tired. He sleeps a lot, but in odd hours, sometimes staying up whole nights curled up in himself, scared.

He feels guilty for not being able to be there more for the kids, for not being able to support Mindy, and for everything, really. Mindy has done so much for him in the past weeks it’s astounding - and Richard can find no way to thank her. She keeps telling him that it’s fine, that he should take all the time he needs to just get better, that it’s the most important thing. The only thing that matters.

Richard just isn't sure if he is ever going to be better. He is constantly told that he will be better, and he knows he has made progress since he got out of the hospital. Still, it's hard to believe that his anxiety could just disappear, when it seems to follow him around to everything he does.

Mindy couldn’t have picked a better place to speed up his recovery, though. They are hiding from the media and the responsibilities of real life in Scotland, in what is possibly the most beautiful place Richard has ever been in, and he’s been in a lot of beautiful places. The forests and scenery of Scotland are exactly what he needs, he thinks. Things would be almost fine, if he just weren’t so completely terrified of everything all of the time.

He knows eventually they will have to go back home, he will have to face the media, he will have to face his friends and somehow, he’ll have to be able to convince them that he is back to normal.

“Honey,” Mindy says to him late one night. “You’ll be back to normal. Just remember that. It’ll be hard for a bit but it’ll get better.”

“What if it doesn’t?” Richard asks her. He should be saying that he knows; that he already feels fine. He can see the pain in her eyes. Pain that Richard put there.

“It will,” Mindy says strongly. “It just will.” She holds out her hand and Richard takes it. She falls asleep but he doesn’t, not until it’s morning and Mindy wakes up. She gets out of the bed carefully, not being able to tell Richard is only feigning sleep. He feels safer when she is awake and finally, he sleeps. When he wakes up he doesn’t feel refreshed. He never does.

The only times he feels sort of grounded and almost back to normal are when he is on the phone with his friends. It feels good to just joke and to be able to make his friends laugh again. It feels normal, and it makes him want to just stop with all this nonsense and go back to making Top Gear so that he can start to forget this whole stupid thing ever happened. Obviously, when he puts the phone down, his insecurities hit him again, but somehow it’s with less force each time. 

The list of people he is allowed to call is short, though, because Mindy doesn’t trust them not to spill the beans on him to the press. It's fair enough, because they really don’t need any more articles written about him - there are already stories made up about him on a daily basis, and they seem to be trying to render him jobless by lobbing that Top Gear should be cancelled. Thankfully, Jeremy had put his foot down in an instant and told everyone at the BBC that cancelling Top Gear because of this just would not do. They had all believed him, or so he’d told Richard. Secretly, Richard is pretty sure Jeremy had caused quite a scene at the BBC. He wishes he could have been a fly on the wall.

Jeremy refuses to tell him anything about it. “I didn’t do anything. They just pulled their heads out of their asses and saw the light,” he says. “Anyway, you shouldn’t worry about it. It’s fine. Focus on getting better.”

“It’s so weird to hear those words coming out of your mouth, Jeremy,” Richard says, grinning. “I’m probably still in a coma.”

“Don’t you even joke about that, you fucking idiot,” Jeremy says. “If you ever end up in a coma again, I’m going to piss in your mouth.”

When the call ends, Richard calls James.

“I think they are too scared to even look at him in the eye, now,” James tells him. “I don’t know what he said but I don’t think he was very sensitive about it.”

“It’s Jeremy, when is he ever _sensitive_?” Richard asks, a small smile in the corner of his mouth. Hearing James laugh at the other end of the line makes Richard feel much better about everything.

*

“I think we should go home,” he says to Mindy in the kitchen one beautiful Wednesday morning. “We can’t hide in here forever.”

She turns to him, worry glazing her eyes as it so often does these days. “You are not fully recovered, yet, Richard,” she says. It’s not a “No”, and Richard knows it. It’s a “Are you sure you’re alright to do that? It’s a big step.”

“I know,” he says and hugs Mindy from behind, pulling her thin frame against his chest. 

They don’t talk about it after that, but Mindy starts making preparations for them to go home. Richard sits on the porch and wonders if things will get better for him, eventually, or if he’s always going to feel like half a person, inadequate and scared.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> James meets his friend for the first time after the accident.

James

James fidgets nervously on the most comfortable chair he owns, flicking through daytime TV mindlessly, his cat purring in his lap. He keeps glancing at the clock on the wall. Time moves slowly.

Richard is coming to visit him in a couple of hours, and James hasn’t seen him in what feels like forever. The last time he set his eyes on his friend was in the hospital up in Leeds, the first time Richard had woken up from his coma. There had been a huge grin on his face, his eye had been completely messed up and his body bruised, and he’d looked up to James and said cheerfully, “Hello, cockface". Afterwards he had passed out again for days.

He has been talking to Richard on the phone, of course, so it’s not like they haven’t communicated in a long time. But somehow James is afraid that seeing him will be different; that _Richard_ will be different. He swallows around the lump in his throat and wishes he’d slept better the previous night. Although his nightmares have subsided somewhat lately, after he’s been able to talk to Richard on the phone, he is still suffering from inexplicable bouts of insomnia. Sometimes he stays up until seven in the morning, just lying on his back in his bed, staring at the ceiling his eyes wide open, his insides in an anxious twist. Last night hadn’t been much better. He’d caught three hours of sleep, but had then woken up covered up in cold sweat, feeling disoriented and nervous.

To try and distract himself, James picks up a copy of Autocar magazine from the living room table and starts circling cars he would like to own. It’s a game he and Richard have kept going for years. There aren’t too many cars he likes in this particular copy, if he’s honest, but he circles some anyway, just to have something to occupy himself with. His cat jumps down from his lap, dismayed by James not giving her enough attention.

Eventually James throws the magazine away and starts watching an old rerun of Top Gear from UKTV G2, something he usually never does, as often he finds it too cringe-worthy to look at his own face. But it’s an episode he is particularly fond of - one where they had their mums on the show with them, and it instantly floods his brain with happy, warm memories. James fishes his phone from the pocket of his jeans and starts typing a text message.

_You’re on the telly. Turn to UKTV G2. -J_

His mother replies about half an hour later (James assumes that is the time that it takes her to write the text message).

_OH DEAR. HOPE YOU HAVE REMEMBERED TO EAT TODAY. LOVE FROM MUM AND DAD._

James chuckles lightly at the message, though it is true that he hasn’t really eaten anything sensible today. He’d been planning to cook something for Hammond later on, and had managed to forget to eat anything himself all day. 

*

When James’ doorbell evetually rings, his heart leaps and he almost runs to the door, not really knowing what to expect.

His friend is standing on his porch, throwing his car keys in the air and then catching them again. There is a huge grin on his face, his hair is carefully styled, he is wearing a light blue denim jacket and a pair of jeans - and he looks completely normal. His eye is much better than James had expected for it to be, with just a tiny red dot in his eyeball to signal that anything was ever wrong.

“Are you going to let me in, or are you just going to stare at me?” Richard asks after a few awkward moments. It’s fair enough, James might have been gaping slightly. He quickly steps aside from the doorway to let his friend in. His throat has gone dry.

Richard steps in and gives James his jacket, takes off his shoes, then turns to look James in the eye. “The silence is pretty unsettling, mate. You would think it’s you with the brain damage and not me.”

James clears his throat. Richard’s jacket lies forgotten in his hands. “You look good,” he says eventually, lowly, the lump in his throat growing dangerously. Before he can think it through, he drops Richard’s jacket on the floor and pulls the shorter man into a hug, wrapping both his arms around him tightly, pulling him against his chest.

It’s not a very manly moment for him. As he holds Richard close to him, his eyes start prickling and he fears he might start crying. He swallows rapidly. 

“James.” Richard says, not really hugging James back, but then it would be a bit hard for him to, such is the grip James has on him. “I’m completely fine. It’s alright. You can let go of me.”

“You really fucking scared me,” James says, his voice tight. “Really fucking scared us all.” He takes a step back and turns away, reluctant to show his face for the fear of it giving too much away. He feels a bit silly. If he’d promised himself one thing about Richard coming over, it had been not to make a scene of it.

“Scared myself a tad bit, to be fair,” Richard says gently. “I’m really sorry.”

James turns around at that. “Don’t say sorry, you freaking pillock,” he says, rubbing a hand over his face. “It wasn’t your fault.”

“Should we maybe go to the living room or something?” Richard grins. “I’m not sure the hallway is the right place for long, emotionally draining conversations.”

“Right, yes, okay,” James says, picking up Richard’s jacket from the floor. “Do you want a cup of tea? I’ll make you a cup of tea. Have you eaten anything yet? I’ll cook for you - what would you like? I have chips.”

Richard rolls his eyes. “You know, this should be entertaining, you fussing over me. Maybe we should invite Jeremy ‘round, he’d probably get you back into your senses.”

“Right, sorry,” James mumbles, slightly embarrassed. Richard just looks at him for a while with a lop-sided smile on his face. Now that he looks at Richard properly, he notices that he is skinnier than before the accident. He also looks tired, with dark bags under his eyes. “I’ll make you that cup of tea, anyway. You go to the living room or something.”

James goes to put the kettle on and watches from the corner of his eye as Richard sits down on the edge of the couch and instantly reaches for the Autocar magazine and a pen. It makes James smile despite himself.

“You’d buy _that_?” Richard calls out to him, sounding horrified and borderline offended. “It’s terrible. I must have hit my head harder than I thought.”

“Which one?” James asks, coming behind Richard to look over his shoulder. Ah, yes. It is terrible. He really should have been paying more attention to what he was circling. It’s too late to back down, now, though. “What? That’s a good car. I like it.”

“You don’t,” Richard says confidently. He is right, of course, but it would do James no favours to admit to it now. So he doesn’t, instead turning on his heels to go and find some of his fancier tea bags from his cupboards. Somehow the occasion calls for something nicer than English Breakfast.

When James hands Richard his cup of tea and sits carefully down next to him, Richard doesn’t meet his eyes, instead staring down at his tea. It is not exactly an uncomfortable silence, but it is a weird one, a lot of things hanging over them at that moment.

“Do we have to talk about it?” Richard asks quietly. “I’m pretty sick of talking about it.”

“Not if you don’t want to,” James says quickly, but secretly he wants to talk about it more than anything. He needs to know if Richard is alright, if he is really okay and back to himself. If James could hear the words from Richard’s mouth and believe them, he thinks it would help with his troubles sleeping and put his mind more at ease about the whole thing. But even though he is craving information, he isn’t going to pressure Richard to talk about it if he isn’t ready to. 

“I don’t know if I want to talk about it or not,” Richard says. He’s chuckling lightly, but it seems joyless, and he is still not meeting James’ gaze. “I mean, what is there to say? I was out for the most of it.”

“Do you remember anything?”

“Bits and pieces, not too much. Everything is quite blurry, fuzzy around the edges. I remember the accident, though. I remember thinking ‘this is it’.” Richard turns to look at him. He really does look tired, and James is hit by a sudden, odd urge to run his hand through Richard's hair. “The tire blew and I had no time to think about anything other than ‘this is it, then’.”

A shiver runs down James' spine. He sort of wants to cry, and he definitely wants to pull Richard close to him and breathe in his hair. He wants to tell Richard how happy he is that he’s there, that he’s better, that he’s going to be alright. But of course, none of it is appropriate, and all of it would be really creepy, so instead of doing any of that, he just looks at his friend, feeling helpless.

“Do you want to watch a film?” he asks after a moment, and smiles as Richard’s eyes light up.

“Yes. Please. Anything. Even one of your boring ones.”

“They are not boring,” James says, and leans over to slip one of his war movies in the DVD player.

He spends the next couple of hours interrupting the film by explaining various things about the Second World War to Richard, who rolls his eyes accordingly, and keeps telling James how much of a pedant he is. But somehow, James doesn’t think Richard actually minds too much. Somehow, watching the film seems to be just the thing to restore a bit of normality between them.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys have a four am heart-to-heart, and Richard starts to realise some things about himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, I know this thing must seem really tough-going for the moment, but stick with it and eventually things will lift off. :)

Richard

He wakes up in the middle of the night to a horrific feeling that something is wrong. Opening his eyes, sweating frantically, he doesn’t immediately recognise his surroundings. He sits up quickly and takes a few quick, deep breaths. He doesn’t want to panic, not now, not when he isn’t even sure where he is -

At James’. Of course. He lets out a deep breath and lets his head fall back to the pillow. It smells comforting, of washing powder and James’ house.

He tries to calm down by thinking about the previous evening; it had been a very pleasant night. After the film James had cooked for him (fried chicken and chips, per Richard’s request), and Richard had mocked him endlessly for fussing over him. By the end of the evening, things had been completely natural between them. It had been nice to have a little bit of normality restored to his life. 

Richard realises that his throat is dry and that he needs to take a piss, so he tip toes out of the guest room and goes downstairs to use the nicer bathroom. He’s surprised to find James sitting in the living room, his cat Fusker in his lap, his eyes closed.

Richard walks behind him, looks at him for a moment, and slips to sit down next to him on the sofa. James doesn’t look like he’s sleeping, so Richard risks a gentle, “Hello, mate.”

James snaps his eyes open and flinches. “Huh? Oh, sorry, mate. What’s the time?”

“Just past four,” Richard says softly. “I didn’t wake you up, did I? Why aren't you in bed?”

“Had a bit of trouble falling asleep,” James says. Something about the way he says it tips Richard off and he furrows his brows. 

“Does this happen often?” he asks quietly, but in a tone that he hopes will message James that he should be honest with Richard. After all, he hasn’t been the poster boy for a good night’s sleep lately, either.

“A bit," James admits sheepishly and yawns. "Er. Since, you know.”

It’s like a punch in the gut. Richard feels unutterably guilty about having put his family and friends through so much, and to see the effect it has had on James so concretely in front of him… it’s not good. He has to take a deep breath to try to calm down. 

“James, you don't need worry about me, okay?” Richard says, carefully keeping his voice steady. “Though it’s touching that we’re both equally fucked up,” he adds, trying desperately to lighten the mood. It doesn't work: James' face is serious and he is avoiding Richard's gaze.

“I know,” James mumbles. “I don’t know why it’s been like this. I’m sure it’s going to be fine.”

“I think it might be my turn to make us a cup of tea, don’t you think?” Richard says loudly, standing up. He claps James on the shoulder once and then makes his way to James’ kitchen, leaning against the counter. His heart is beating fast in his chest and he needs to occupy himself with something before he has a full-blown anxiety attack. He doesn’t need that right now. It's not like he hasn’t freaked James out enough.

He doesn’t know what to say, has never been good with emotions, not his own, and especially not with someone else’s. So, he doesn’t say anything, just prepares the tea and stands in the kitchen, looking at James’ shape in the living room. It’s funny how exhausted a human being can be without being sleepy in the slightest. Richard leans his head in his hands. 

“One day, we’ll look back at this and laugh,” James tells him when Richard hands him his cup of tea. This time it's English Breakfast.

"Yeah," Richard mumbles, but he isn't sure he believes him.

There are many things Richard wants to say, but he can't find the words for any of them. He wants to try and convince James that he is really alright, but it's hard, because the truth is that he isn't; not yet. He knows now that he is going to be, one day, but he doesn't know how or when that will be. He would also like to tell James that he is touched by how much he cares, because he is; and that he cares, too, even though he is usually incredibly bad at showing it, except maybe through various good-natured insults. 

Richard looks at James, the shadows on his face, and the way his fingers are curled around his cup of tea tight enough that his knuckles have turned white, and his heart misses a beat. Suddenly, he wants to reach out and touch James' arm. He tells himself that the weird burning inside of him is just that he cares about James so much - as a _friend_ \- that seeing him hurt is confusing his brain. 

But somehow, he isn't sure he believes himself any more than he'd believed James earlier. When Richard goes back to bed, he falls asleep feeling guilty and utterly confused by everything.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things start to slowly return back to normal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last of the super angsty opening chapters, you'll be glad to hear. I'll try and get the next chapter up as soon as possible!

James

It’s their first day back on set since Richard’s accident, and it starts with Richard and Jeremy throwing a bucket of ice-cold water on James.

“I’m sorry,” Jeremy howls, laughing doubled-up. “Actually, I’m not even sorry,” he says after a moment. “Serves you right, you weren’t paying attention - you would’ve seen us coming if you had.”

“Look at him, what a miserable sight, a wet spaniel,” Richard says, grinning deviously with his white teeth and perfectly styled hair.

James grumbles a bit under his breath and calls his colleagues appropriate names. When he goes to find something dry to wear, he realises that secretly, he doesn’t really mind the prank. He doesn’t mind the goosebumps on his skin because of how cold he is, doesn’t mind shivering in the presenters' room while he changes into a dry pair of jeans. He is just happy to be back - happy to still be able to have all of this, when just a few of months ago everything had seemed so bad.

He’s still not sleeping too well, but he keeps telling himself that the routine of Top Gear is exactly what he needs, the studio shows and meetings and drinking disgusting coffee in the writers’ room hour after hour every day. The familiarity of those things will put him back together, eventually, he is almost sure.

Richard seems to be beyond himself with joy to be back, and he’s banned anyone from mentioning his accident ever again, in an attempt to restore normality as soon as possible. Of course, his mood suffers when he realises he can’t stop people worrying about him and asking him about the accident, no matter how much he tries to tell everyone that it’s a forbidden subject.

“I’m sick of saying ‘I’m fine’,” he mutters angrily while collecting his stuff, ready to go home for the day. “I’m going to have someone’s eye out any day, now.”

“People are just worried,” James says, but he understands where Richard is coming from. The amount of times _James_ has uttered the phrase “He is fine” over the last few months is ridiculous. It hadn't even been his accident, and yet he has had to answer literally hundreds of questions regarding Richard’s well-being. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Richard replies, seeming antsy and fiddling with his keys.

James looks after him until he disappears from his field of vision. As soon as he is gone, he starts to miss him slightly. The thought feels so wrong, especially because since the accident, Richard has been very keen to spend a lot of his time at home with his family.

When he drives home that night, the emptiness of his house makes him feel melancholy. He wishes there was someone there with him. Someone he could hold near, someone to whisper sweet nothings to. His house feels cold when he steps over the doorstep. Not even Fusker comes to greet him at the door. 

By now, he would have thought that, since he’s been alone for such a long time, he would have grown accustomed to it. That is certainly the message he hopes to signal to his mates, with what he suspects are varying levels of success. But secretly he feels lonely, every day more so than the last.

He picks up the phone and calls Sarah, who aside from Jeremy and Richard is his closest friend. At some point the media had just sort of assumed he and Sarah were an item, and together they had decided not to correct them. James finds it’s easier, that way; he doesn’t have to deal with constant rumours surrounding him. Even though occasionally James describes himself as a bachelor on the telly, nobody seems to care too much as long as there is someone in the picture with him. It doesn’t make a good enough story. He is just the “other bloke off of Top Gear”, after all. Nobody cares, and that suits James just fine. He likes his privacy. With Sarah, it hasn’t been something he’s had to worry about too much. Mostly because for years now, he hasn’t really fancied anyone - apart from Richard, who obviously is unobtainable, and therefore doesn’t count.

Sarah answers the phone in her usual cheerful way. “James!”

“Hello,” James says. “You alright?”

He listens as Sarah starts telling him about her week in great length and detail, and feels his muscles relaxing. It has only been seconds, but just hearing Sarah’s familiar voice and her enthusiastic words about the article she’s been working on makes him feel a lot better, a lot more grounded. It’s not until he feels better that he realises how shredded he has felt lately. 

“How about you?” Sarah asks quickly, and it takes James a few beats too long to realise he’s been asked a question.

“Um, fine,” James says. “Back on set, so things are back to normal.” He considers this for a moment. “Or as normal as it’s possible for them to go on the set of Top Gear, anyway.”

“I’m so glad to hear you say that,” Sarah sighs. “I’ve been really worried about you.”

James cringes, but tries to keep his voice level when he replies. “Don’t worry about me, I’m good, things are good.” He doesn’t think he succeeds in sounding convincing very well at all, because the next thing that Sarah says is,

“You should come over for a cup of tea and a biscuit and a good, proper chat.” Her voice is strict and leaves no room for protests. James wouldn’t dare to protest anyway, and he promises he will stop by in few days’ time, when he gets a bit of time off work. In his mind, he already breaks the promise, not too keen on the idea of sharing and caring.

“Take care, James,” she says.

“I am,” James lies.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Top Gear goes to Botswana, and James recites a poem.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Here](http://www.poetryfoundation.org/poem/178054) is the poem James recites in this chapter.  
>  It's not actually the poem James refers to in the special, but oh well, this is fiction so it makes no difference. :)

Richard

It’s their third day in to filming series ten, and Richard could not be more excited. 

“It’s the Bugatti Veyron!” he exclaims to everyone who will listen long enough. This list, unfortunately, is quite short: consisting mostly of James and a couple of overly excited interns doing their first week on Top Gear. Richard, however, doesn’t let that slow him down. He’s waited for this moment all his life, it feels. “It’s the best car ever made!”

“Yes, I know, they let me drive it series ago,” Jeremy says, scrunching up his stupid face. “Even James has driven it. Why they chose to let _you_ drive it _now_ is beyond me. But it is good. Just don’t fucking crash it.”

“Shut up,” Richard says happily. Nothing can ruin his mood today. The sun is shining and everything. “I just want to make it absolutely clear that what I am up against is far more challenging than what you did. You drove against James in his stupid little plane, with his idiotic pre-flight checks -” Richard glances over at James and shrugs sort of apologetically, “- I’m against the RAF Euro Fighter. Now that’s a proper opponent.”

“Yes, yes,” Jeremy says, seemingly bored with the topic of conversation. “Just don’t miss it if the tyre blows. Again.”

“Please don’t,” James says, sounding genuinely troubled, his eyebrows furrowed. There is a look on his face of pure worry, and Richard hates seeing that look on his face. He has seen it far too many times in the past year. It doesn't matter that he has told James time and time again that he should stop worrying about him, James still wears the face too often for Richard's liking. 

“I won’t. God, it’s been _a year_ ,” Richard says impatiently, rolling his eyes. He knows he is being a bit unfair. It is natural for his loved ones to be worried about him after all, especially when he’s thinking about embarking on high-speed driving only a year after his little incident. But the year since has been nothing if not an unusual one - they have already been through so much crazy stuff together. What is a little bit of fast driving compared to running with some dogs to the North Pole? Nothing, is what it is.

“I’ll let you know how it goes,” Richard shouts from the window of his car. “You lot try and make some broadcastable telly.”

“I don’t see how that’s a realistic goal,” Andy shouts back at him and Richard grins, driving off.

*

It’s a good day. Richard loses the race with the RAF Euro Fighter, but the car is brilliant and he loves it, loves the speed, loves the fact that he doesn’t have a mental breakdown at the wheel of it despite his colleagues apparently thinking he might. He feels brilliantly elated. 

“Call James May,” he tells the computer in the car. Unbelievably, it works on the first try, without him having to repeat a word.

“Hammond?” James says as he picks up. 

“James,” Richard says, smirking. “I just called to tell you that despite your doubts, I’m still very much alive.”

“That is irritating,” James says, but he sounds pleased - relieved, even. Richard bites his lower lip. One day soon, if James doesn’t stop fretting over his well-being, they are going to have to have a serious chat, and Richard isn’t one to like serious chats, especially without the aid of alcohol. In the aftermath of his crash, he had been banned from consuming alcohol for two years, which initially had been a bit of a challenge for him. By now, he is pretty much used to it, and although occasionally he has bent the rules a little bit and had a bit more than he would strictly be allowed, he is mostly content in keeping his drinking down to two weak lagers a night.

There's a silence at the other end of the line, and suddenly Richard wishes he had called Mindy or Andy or Jeremy instead of James. He takes a deep breath, trying not to lose his patience. It's definitely no use trying to have a difficult discussion along the lines of "stop fucking worrying about me, you fucking pillock" on the phone - they would just both end up frustrated and angry, and Richard doesn't want that. Eventually, he simply asks James how his day has been. 

“Jeremy was a complete pain in the arse, as per usual,” James says. “But yeah, fine, eventually the film came together.”

“Flight to Africa on Friday,” Richard says, trying to steer the subject towards a more enjoyable topic. “I’ve the best car for that trip. We all know it.”

“Hammond,” James says. “You’ve got forty horse power. Forty.”

“You’ll see,” Richard says confidently. “You will all see.”

“What is worrying, though,” James says thoughtfully, “is that Jeremy appears to have bought a book about birds. He’s going to tick them off when he sees them. Might get a bit annoying.”

“Oh my god,” Richard moans. That will be annoying, he has absolutely no doubt about it whatsoever. “Please tell me I can take a baseball bat.”

“Please do,” James says. Then, after a moment, maybe a bit unexpectedly, James says, “I’ll see you on Friday.”

“Yeah, see you, mate,” Richard says and listens to James hang up.

*

James, surprisingly, isn’t as bad in Botswana as Richard had feared he might be. He doesn't seem to worry about Richard much at all. Granted, he shows Richard more empathy than would be usual on one of their epic journeys, but only just; and although at times he hovers around Richard a little, the anxious look Ricard has grown so familiar with in the past year never crosses his face. 

“That is astounding,” Richard says. They have just crossed the The Makgadikgadi Pan, which in itself is a huge relief to all of them - especially Jeremy and James, who had been stuck in the mud more times than they could count. But now that the moon is coming up, the hardships of the day start to seem incredibly trivial. The moon seems orange, because of the dust of the desert. It’s absolutely staggering.

“I know a Philip Larkin poem about the moon, would you like to hear it?” James asks.

“No,” Richard replies quickly. Jeremy snickers. 

They sit around a big campfire, the cast and the crew and their guide, everyone. None of the stuff that gets said is in any way broadcastable, but it doesn’t have to be. This is just a group of friends, hanging out after a long day of work, in one of the best places that can be found on the Earth. Jeremy hands him a can of beer and Richard thanks him. It’s his fifth beer for the night, which, strictly speaking, is a few more than he is allowed, but Richard can’t bring himself to be too worried about it. He feels better than he has felt in months, comfortable in his skin and pleased with his surroundings.

When hours later they all waddle towards their tents, James turns to go a bit further from the camp to have a wee, and Richard decides to follow him. He leans against a miserable-looking little tree and adjusts his cowboy hat on his head as James takes a piss.

“Go on, then,” Richard says as James buttons his trousers. “I’ll indulge you this once, if you promise to never tell about it to anyone.”

“What are you talking about?” James asks, looking at Richard with hooded eyes. Richard surprises himself by wondering what it’d be like to yank him forward by his shirt and kiss him on the lips, and he flinches. For the past months, he has tried his best to not think about James in that way at all, and sometimes it has almost worked. Out here, however, so far away from home and beneath the orange moon, it's very hard to control his brain. James looks lean and tempting in front of him, his hair all over the place and his lips in a tight, inquisitive line.

“The Larkin poem,” Richard explains, trying to sound suitably nonchalant. “Let’s hear it.”

“Are you being serious?” James asks, looking suspicious. “You’re not going to mock it?”

“Well,” Richard says, grinning in a way that he imagines is charming, “I can’t promise _that_ , but I shall try.”

James turns around and looks up at the moon. “It’s called ‘Sad Steps’,” he says, quietly, thoughtfully. Richard takes a couple of steps forward so he’s standing next to James. The moon really is beautiful, but his eyes still dart up to look at James' profile.

“Sounds cheerful,” Richard says, mocking slightly, but he shuts up when James gives him a look and starts talking.

“Groping back to bed after a piss-"

"That is not how the poem starts, James, come on," Richard laughs, but the laughter dies in his throat as James shoots him an irritated look. "Alright then, fine, please continue," he says softly, and bites down on his bottom lip to keep from letting out any more stupid comments.

James continues talking, in a low, loaded voice, and Richard doesn't know much about poetry, well, nothing if he is honest, but he likes the words falling from James' lips, the rhythm and the message he sees behind them, and suddenly he finds himself at a loss for words.

“That was weirdly appropriate,” Richard says quietly after a few beats. James lowers his gaze and looks Richard in the eye. He looks serious, and far more sober than he has any right to be after how many cans of beer he has emptied over the course of the night. 

“I know,” he replies simply.

“I quite liked that,” Richard says, hoping that it will manage to summon a smile on James’ face. It doesn’t work, James keeps looking at him with a serious expression on his face, his eyes intensive in the moonlight.

“I thought you might,” James says. The atmosphere around them seems loaded. It’s as though something is going to snap. Richard swallows. His skin is prickling. He thinks James might be staring at his lips. He forgets to breathe.

“I, uh,” James starts, running a hand over his face, and the moment is gone. After a few seconds Richard isn’t sure if there ever had been a moment at all. “Good night, Hammond.”

“Night, James,” he replies and watches as James walks away, leaving him standing there.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> James and Richard play a round of Car Poker.

James

Some days, when they are not filming, Richard will call him to tell him all sorts of trivial things about his day. It’s usually when he’s stuck in traffic somewhere, or having a long drive on the motorway, or when he’s drunk out of his mind (happily now that he is allowed to do that again) with some childhood friend of his that he’s trying to reconnect with, or when something is irritating him and he just needs to get it out of his chest. James likes that he is a person Richard chooses to call in moments like these, though he doesn’t think he is the only one. 

Today, James’ phone has rung three times already. James shakes his head as he thinks about their conversations, but at the same time, there’s a persistent smile plastered on his face. Richard had challenged him to a round of Car Poker, the second of its kind. The first round had been won by Hammond in 2004 with a Range Rover Classic. In all honesty, James is quite excited about the prospect of a second round of Car Poker, as he quite enjoys the game, as the rules are simple - they just buy the same car, with approximately the same amount of money, and see which car is the better. In a lot of ways, it’s similar to what they often do on Top Gear for one of their challenges, but their own version is more exciting, because it’s their own money, and they have to do everything without the help of a BBC research team.

This time, Richard is convinced he’s managed to find a minter of an old 911.

“You’re just using the game as an excuse,” James tells him over the phone. “You just wanted to buy an old 911, and now you’re trying to make me do the same so you don’t feel as stupid.”

“Yeah, I, well. I might have done,” Richard admits. “You will never be able to find a better one, though.”

And so, the game is on, and Richard keeps calling him every hour or so, to inform James of things that are certainly, without a doubt whatsoever, going to turn out to be better in his 911 than in the one James is going to buy sometime in the near future. James brushes him off with a disbelieving remark or two each time and tries to sound appropriately pensive and disinterested and cocky about his chances of victory - which in reality he judges to be quite slim. Secretly, though, James feels warm inside despite himself. He doesn’t like admitting, even to himself, how much he misses Richard on the days that he doesn’t get to see him. He misses him and his laugh and his stupid face and his enthusiasm towards most things (except maybe towards foreign food and small talk).

Richard doesn’t bother with introductions the next time he calls. He just waits until he hears James pick up the phone and starts talking.

“D’you know, this thing has a fantastically accurate speedometer,” he says. There’s something weird to his tone of voice, though, and James squints his eyes.

“Does that mean it doesn’t work?” he asks, a wide smile spreading on his face as he realises that is precisely what it means.

“Yes,” Richard says. He sounds cheerful despite this. “Yes, it does. If I get pulled over now, I’ll be in trouble. I’m doing twenty miles an hour.”

“I bet you are,” James says, and listens as his friend blabbers on about the car. It sounds exquisite in every way - apart from the speedometer - but James knows Richard well enough to know that in this instance, he can’t trust a word from his mouth. It’s an act of psychological warfare on Hammond’s part. He is trying to make James think he has no hope of winning this - which, fortunately for James, must actually mean that Hammond’s 911 isn’t really quite as flawless or unbeatable as he is trying to make it seem. 

James spends the rest of the day online, picking up the phone every time it rings. Richard has given him a week to come up with a car, and then they’ll see which is better. There’s a curry at stake, as befits tradition. James doesn’t necessarily want to lose, but the great thing about this game is that for him, every possible outcome is a good outcome - he’ll enjoy winning like anyone would, but even if he loses, he knows he will still have a great time. He’s pathetic enough in his infatuation with Richard that watching _him_ win is enough to make James happy. And of course, he’ll get a curry either way, whether he has to pay for it or not. So really, if a better game has ever been invented, James doesn’t know about it.

He finds a couple of cars that he thinks might be good enough for him to win. Of course, it’s hard to tell from an online advertisement, since the reality could be anything. He has bought enough cars to know that much. But the vehicles look promising, so James scribbles down the phone numbers of the people selling them on a piece of paper and hopes that neither of them is a very avid watcher of Top Gear. He doesn’t necessarily want to end up on Mail Online for buying a rubbish old car. Not that he thinks anyone would care, as such, but the press works in mysterious ways that James has never been able to fully understand.

Tuesday into the next week, James manages to purchase his car. He is quite pleased, and even slightly optimistic about his chances in the game. Richard has agreed to meet James at his garage, located conveniently a few miles from his house. When James says “conveniently”, he isn’t being sarcastic, because to be fair, it’s less of a garage and more of a storage building. He has other stuff there beside his cars, and he has a room in it that he uses as a shed. 

James’ Porsche 911 Classic is silver. It looks even better than he’d dared to hope based on the online ad, the paintwork of the car in a surprisingly good condition. He’s only driven it once, so he’s not too certain of its technical capacities yet, but it hadn’t broken down on that first drive - a good sign if any. 

He can hear Richard arriving before he can see him, the sound of the engine unmistakable. He can feel a smile spreading on his face as he sees the overly excited face of his colleague and friend. 

Richard jumps out of the car in one, swift movement. “What do you think?” he asks excitedly, pointing at his car, apparently not bothering with ‘hello’.

“It’s -” James starts but Richard interrupts him.

“British racing green, I know!” He grins widely, his teeth shining white. “It is magnificent!”

“It’s not bad,” James allows. He should have guessed Richard’s 911 would be British racing green. “Mine is pretty good, too, though.”

“We’ll see,” Richard says and elbows him. “Do you want to go for a drive, then, or what?” 

“I’ve actually driven mine only once,” James says. “So it’ll be hard for us to judge which one is better if we just take each other’s cars.”

“Well,” Richard says, in a tone that he’d probably use to explain something to a two-year-old. “Let’s take them in turns. I’ll drive yours, you can occupy the passenger seat.”

“Okay,” James says. It sounds like a reasonable and fair arrangement, after all. He jumps in the passenger seat and waits for Richard to start the car. There is a massive smile on his colleague’s face, his eyes shining bright. 

“Ha!” Richard says as the car starts with a terrible sort of bang sound. It can’t be good, and James cringes slightly. Richard’s grin widens, if possible. “Let’s see what you’ve got, girl,” Richard says to the car and drives off.

They drive in silence for a couple of miles, going through the suburbs slowly. Richard drives more carefully than James is used to seeing him drive, taking caution in the way he accelerates and changes gear, listening to the car.

“I have to give it to you,” Richard says seriously after a while. James turns to look at his profile (something he has tried very hard not to do too much for the past few miles, even though Richard looks alluring as ever). He is wearing a tight black shirt under his green jacket. His hair is a bit messed up, and he seems to have acquired highlights. James puts that thought away to the back of his mind to remember later when an opportunity to tease Richard presents itself. “This is not bad. I’m genuinely impressed, Captain.”

James smirks at the use of the nickname. “Told you it was good,” he says softly. Richard turns the car around at the next little road. 

“But wait ‘till you try mine,” Richard says cockily, and James rolls his eyes.

Unfortunately for James, when he jumps at the wheel of Richard’s 911, it takes him no time at all to come to the finite conclusion that Richard’s car is the better out of the two of them. There’s no doubt about it all - the steering responds better, the gear changes are far smoother, the engine sounds healthier. He maintains a thoughtful expression on his face, because he knows Richard’s studying him, looking for signs of defeat on his face like a hyena looking for prey.

“Oh, give up,” Richard says after a mile or so of loaded silence. “You do know it’s better, don’t you?”

“No,” James says stubbornly. There’s still a chance that if he drives the car far enough it’ll break down and then James will have won. He hadn’t really cared about winning or losing before they set out to drive, but now that he’s behind the wheel of the car his competitive side is kicking in. Sadly, the realistic part of his brain knows that the reality is that he has already lost.

“You know it’s better, I know you do,” Richard says happily, his eyes wide. He’s leaning in so his shoulder is bumping against James’, and it’s distracting. James tries his hardest to come up with a counterargument, but Richard smells nice, and he’s really close, and -

“Yeah, I know it’s better, you insufferable sod,” he mumbles without really meaning to. It’s worth it, though, for Richard’s triumphant face.

“YES!” he shouts and if James hadn’t been prepared for such an eventuality, knowing Richard’s tendency of being what you might call a bad winner, he might have swerved into a ditch. “Curry for me. Well played, James.”

“Sod off,” James says, but can’t keep a smile off his face. 

Richard leans back in his seat and closes his eyes. “I really like this car,” he says solemnly. “Oh, it makes some good noises.”

It’s not the first time Richard’s enjoyment of cars has summoned inappropriate thoughts to James’ mind. There’s something about his friend when put in a car that he really likes that, to James, for one reason or another (and he likes to think the reason is that he knows Richard so well that he’s able to pick up things from his behaviour that to others might not be so apparent), seems almost obscene.

Richard proves his point by letting out a slight moan when James accelerates. It does things to James’ insides, and he’s glad that Richard has his eyes closed, because a shiver goes down his spine. He risks a glance at Richard and his throat goes dry. Richard’s sitting back with his legs spread wide, his hands resting on his thighs, a blissful expression on his face. He’s biting his lower lip between his teeth. James draws in a deep breath. It’s too much. 

“Stop it,” he snaps, regretting it the moment the words leave his mouth. 

Richard opens his eyes lazily. “Stop what? I’m not doing anything.” He looks at James innocently, with one eyebrow raised, his lips pursed slightly. He looks as if he has no idea what James is talking about, but James knows better. He squints his eyes at Richard, and almost steers off the road. James really should try to look at the oncoming traffic instead of Richard for a change. He changes gear and messes it up. Richard laughs.

“Stop with the moaning,” James mutters, annoyed now, at himself for being so easy to distract, and - as always - for being so pathetically infatuated with his friend.

Richard raises both of his eyebrows and his smirks. “Distracted?” he asks cheekily. What an irritating little prick.

“No, fuck off.”

“He doth protest too much,” Richard muses. 

And, just. “Don’t misquote Shakespeare at me, Queen Gertrude,” James says, shaking his head. “You are an idiot.”

Without meaning to, he starts laughing. Richard joins him.

It’s a good afternoon.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> James takes Richard out to dinner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a very silly chapter, but it goes well with the cheesy holiday spirit... or something... It might rot your teeth, is what I'm saying.
> 
> I hope you've all had lovely holidays, thank you so much for reading this if you are, it means a lot, and sorry for taking so long to update! Happy Top Gear weekend! x

Richard

Richard gets a text from James, telling him to wear something ‘presentable’. Richard squints down at the phone. It's a peculiar message, since Richard doesn't think James has ever cared about his own clothes (easily proven by his hideous stripy shirts and the holes in his jeans) - so why would he care about what _Richard_ is planning to wear? 

Richard would have been quite content wearing the most faded pair of his jeans and a T-shirt to James’ house, but apparently he has to try and make an effort. He can only guess that James is planning to take him to a restaurant. Usually their curry night would consist of a seven pound curry (ordered in, of course) and a selection of James’ fine lagers and whatever wine Richard would be able to find in his house. This time, Richard guesses, will be different.

He stands in front of the mirror in his bedroom, wondering whether he looks 'presentable' or not. He thinks so, but he isn’t sure. He’s opted for a white collar shirt and a pair of black jeans. What does ‘presentable’ mean, anyway? Surely it can’t mean he should wear a suit jacket and a pair of straight pants? He decides to make sure by texting James. Just in case. 

_I’m not wearing a suit, just to let you know._

James replies quickly. _It's fine; I'm not taking you to number 10._

Richard shakes his head, and decides that what he’s got on now is definitely good enough. He walks downstairs and goes to the living room, where Mindy is reading a copy of _The World According to Clarkson_. She looks up at Richard with a small smile.

“Have fun, dear,” she says softly.

“Yeah, thanks,” he replies. “Do I look alright?”

She laughs, her eyes wrinkling at the corners. “Since when have you started dressing up for James?” she asks playfully, standing up and pressing herself against Richard, straightening his collar. “You look fine.”

Richard flicks her on the nose. He doesn’t have an answer to her question. When _did_ he start caring about what James thought about his clothes - whether he requested him to look presentable or not? It’s a troubling thought that Richard doesn’t have the time for right now. Preferably, he would like to never think about it ever again, if at all possible. He kisses Mindy on the cheek and tells him that he loves her. She says the words right back to him, and Richard wonders if to her they are as automatic and flat as they feel to him. He doubts it; to him, the declaration of love has become a bit like commenting on the weather. Automatic. Boring. Meaningless.

The drive to Hammersmith goes quickly. He taps at the steering wheel with his fingers. It’s not as if he’s going to admit it even to himself, but his skin prickles a little. He is nervous, just slightly, a few butterflies in the pit of his stomach, living a life of their own. Being nervous about the prospect of meeting James is completely unheard of for him. Probably best not to analyse it any further. Richard puts his foot down to distract himself from his whirling thoughts.

Richard takes a moment to straighten his shirt before he presses James’ doorbell. Presentable, oh yes.

“Oh, hello,” James says, looking at him from head to toe, making Richard’s skin prickle all the more. 

“Hey,” Richard says. Then, “you complete bastard!”

“What?” James asks, confused.

“’Presentable’, you said! I’ve been fretting about what to wear all day, and here you are, wearing what is almost certainly the most hideous thing I have ever set my eyes on.”

James rises an eyebrow. “First off, I’m going to change,” he says simply, making Richard feel a bit dim. “And secondly, this is a perfectly fine thing to wear.”

“IT’S PINK, and terrible,” Richard squeaks, poking James in the chest and stomach. “It’s pink and it has lilac stripes and it’s awful.”

James rolls his eyes. “Come in, you dimwit,” he says. “We can’t all be as hip as you, Richard.”

“Well?” Richard prompts, when he is safely inside James’ house. “What do you think, then?” He doesn’t know what prompts him to start the discussion, what makes him go there. 

“What do I think about what?” James says, sounding distracted. 

“Do I look presentable enough for you?” Richard asks in a soft tone. James snaps his eyes at him. They are an intensive shade of blue. His hair is a mess. His shirt is horrendous. And still, Richard finds himself wondering what it’d be like to throw himself against the older man. He thinks he might enjoy it. The thought scares and excites him in equal measure.

“Um,” James says, and swallows. The butterflies in Richard’s stomach flap their wings a little harder. “You look fine.”

“Are you going to tell me where we are going, then?” Richard says. He feels restless, even more so than usually, and just standing around doing nothing is getting to him. “Are you going to change, then?”

“Take a breath, Richard,” James says calmly. It annoys Richard and he has to take a deep breath to keep from snapping at his friend. “All in good time,” James adds with an irritating little smile that annoys Richard even more, and he closes his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose. He can hear James chuckling at him lightly. 

“You are so annoying,” Richard says eventually, but half-way through the sentence he starts laughing. “I don’t know why I put up with you.”

“Fancy a drink?” James asks.

Richard grins. “I guess that would be why,” he says. “Yes, please.”

James pours him a drink in a large glass. For a moment they just stand together in James’ living room, in what is a very comfortable silence. James keeps glancing at Richard's direction, and Richard bites the inside of his cheek lightly. 

“I’ll go and change, wait here,” James says after a moment and disappears upstairs to his bedroom. Richard sits down on James’ couch and flicks open the telly. There’s an old rerun of _QI_ on. Jimmy Carr has just made a sensible sentence from random letter-shaped fridge magnets. _Put smarties tubes on cats legs, make them walk like a robot._ Richard laughs.

James comes back downstairs after a few moments. Richard turns to look at him, his intention to explain something to him that he’s just learned off of _QI_ to try and impress him, but when he sees his friend, he instantly forgets everything he was going to say.

“Wow, mate,” he says before he can think better of it. 

“Think it’s okay?” James asks him, his previous cockiness gone. He sounds almost sheepish, and definitely a bit uncomfortable in his skin.

“Yeah!” Richard says with a level of enthusiasm that he should probably try and conceal a bit. James smiles almost shyly. “Well, it’s better than what you were wearing,” he adds then, teasing.

James has come down wearing a light grey collar shirt (unbelievably without any sort of flowers on it) and a black suit jacket on it. The grey shirt compliments his hair and brings out his eyes. Richard really likes it. He still feels very restless and slightly out of control.

“Shall we go, then?” James asks and Richard quickly downs the rest of his drink. James grabs his keys from the kitchen counter, waits for Richard to go out the door first, and then locks the door once, unlocks it, and locks it again.

“Mate, it’s locked,” Richard says softly. 

“Just checking."

*

The drive to the restaurant is spent mostly in a comfortable silence. They chat a bit about the car - a borrowed one, for one of James’ articles, but it’s such a boring thing that it doesn’t get them too far. Richard watches as the sceneries change. They are approaching central London, which he hadn’t been expecting. He still can’t quite wrap his head around the whole thing. He’d thought they’d just get some curry out of a van from the M4 and eat it from plastic dishes in front of a shitty movie in their pants, or something. Central London is uncommon territory for them. He hopes they won’t accidentally cause a fuss.

“We’ll have to park here,” James says and stops the car near Green Park. 

“Right, okay,” Richard says. He’s in no position to argue, after all, since he still has no idea where they are headed. He hasn’t spent a lot of his time in central London restaurants, often preferring a meal from a drive-thru McDonald’s.

“It’s a bit of a walk, but Audi said they wanted to pick it up there,” James explains as they set off towards Green Park. It’s a beautiful evening, and for London, it’s also surprisingly quiet.

“I don’t mind,” Richard assures him. “Tell me where we are going, James.”

“You’ll see,” James says mysteriously.

“Oh come on, as if the name of the restaurant is going to mean anything to me anyway,” Richard says. “It’s not too fancy, is it? It’s not one of those places that only serves parts of brains, because you know I don’t like that stuff.”

“You don’t like brains,” James says slowly. “Is that why you also don’t have them?”

“Funny,” Richard says quickly. “Going to fill up the O2 with that routine, mate.”

“It’s not too fancy,” James says shortly. “I made sure that your needs will be catered. I’ve also pre-ordered for us, so you’ve nothing to worry about.”

“You ordered food for me?” Richard asks, surprised. It’s a move Richard wouldn’t have expected from James. He kind of likes it, though, in a weird way, James putting himself in charge like that. Richard files that thought under the ever-growing pile of things he really should not analyse any further. James makes some comment about Richard being easy to order for since he only likes corn flakes and gin, but Richard decides to let it slide. He breathes in the evening air. It smells like summer.

The restaurant is lovely. It’s almost empty when they arrive, and upon seeing them the waiter leads them upstairs to a corner with a large window and a view. They sit down, order a bottle of white wine, and the waiter informs them it will be a few minutes until their starters are ready.

The room is high and from the window it seems that the whole London is in their view with its lights and people on their evening strolls. Richard isn’t someone who often finds himself speechless, but he thinks he might be now. The place is absolutely beautiful. James pours him a glass of wine. 

“I’m surprised you didn’t pull out my chair for me,” Richard jokes.

“I would have, had I thought I’d get away with it,” James says, and it’s hard to tell if he’s joking or not. Richard takes a sip of his wine. It tastes expensive.

“James,” Richard says quietly, searching for James’ eyes. “You spent a bit more than a tenner on this, didn’t you?”

“Fuck off,” James says. “This is hardly going to bankrupt me. Unless you drink too much and throw up all over the place, which of course isn’t beyond the realms of possibility.”

“So funny,” Richard mutters. He takes another sip of his wine. It’s really nice.

Even though the view from the window is lovely, and when their starters come, they are set on their plates in a very artistic fashion, Richard finds his gaze escaping to James more often than he feels absolutely comfortable with. He takes a sip of his wine each time it happens, and with the drink he had at James’ and a couple of glasses of crisp white, he is already starting to feel a bit warm inside, more at one with his skin.

“This is delicious,” he says, with his mouth full. He doesn’t know exactly what it is that he is eating, but for once in his life, mostly out of trust for James’ selection of the dish, he’s decided not to judge the food by its looks.

“Glad you like it,” James says. “More wine?”

“Are you trying to get me drunk, James May?” Richard asks cheekily, grinning wide. If he’s not completely mistaken, James blushes slightly at his words. Richard’s grin widens. “Should be careful with that. You don’t know what might happen.”

“You might be sick on me,” James rolls his eyes. “…Again.”

“Shut up about the throwing up!” Richard squeaks. James laughs so hard Richard thinks he might choke on his food.

The main course is a brilliant curry, presented in a fancy way. It still tastes like proper curry and not like pointless poncery, though. When their desserts come in, Richard is quite comfortably buzzed, and the joy when he sees his plate, where there’s a small British racing green macaron cake, a cube-shaped piece of fudge or something, and the world “Congratulations!” written in chocolate sauce, almost overwhelms him.

James looks amused at Richard’s wide-eyed gaping. “Congrats,” he says softly. 

“You do know,” Richard says when he’s able to speak again, “that from now on, whenever I win a bet between you and me, no matter what it is, no matter how trivial, I’m not going to settle for anything less than this.” He smirks. “This is brilliant!”

He’s overcome by a sudden urge to lurge over the table and give his friend a hug. It would be too weird though, and he’s not drunk enough for that.

They end up ordering dessert cocktails after the actual dessert. Richard orders a sickly red strawberry cocktail, which comes in a tall glass with lots of ice, and when he takes a sip of it, it is sugary beyond belief. It tastes good, though. James, boring as he is, goes for a fine cognac or something, and teases Richard for his girly drink. Richard doesn’t mind. Cognac is disgusting. His drink is nice, even if in the morning hours he’ll regret it when his vomit is pink.

James orders them a cab and rests his hand on the small of Richard’s back as they walk out the restaurant. It makes Richard’s throat go dry and his skin prickle yet again. He is probably drunker than he realises, because as he walks, the world around him sways lightly. There’s a persistent smile on his face. He sees his reflection briefly against a window outside the restaurant. His cheeks look flushed and he’s managed to mess up his hair. He tries to put it back in place.

James stops him with a hand on his shoulder. “The cab is here.”

“My hair’s messed up,” Richard complains, only half-joking.

“You look splendid,” James says. His tone is serious, his eyed hooded. "As always."

Richard climbs to the back of the taxi, feeling out of his depth.


	9. Chapter 9

James

James is drunk. There is no denying it, and he is not one of those people who would try to deny it.

He is not quite as drunk as his beloved colleague, however. Richard’s sprawled on the couch, his whole body turned towards James, and he is explaining something with a feverish expression on his face, waving his hands in the air in front of him. To his shame, James isn’t really listening. He is sure whatever Richard is saying is interesting, it’s not that. But somehow, in his current state of drunkness, James finds studying Richard’s face much more interesting.

Richard’s cheeks are flushed from the alcohol and his eyelids are beginning to seem lazy, fluttering open only some of the way. He licks his lips every once in a while as he’s speaks, to keep up the frantic pace, no doubt. James is mesmerised and, thankfully, too drunk to feel stupidly guilty about it - for once.

Inevitably, after a few more moments of James shamelessly leering at his friend and focusing on his alluringly low tone of voice rather than his words, Richard picks up on James’ inattentiveness and elbows him in the ribs. Hard.

“You’re not even listening to me!” He complains loudly, looking dismayed and hurt. James hates that he put that expression on his friend’s face, even if most of it is just pretend. 

“I am,” James lies. He doesn’t know why he expects the lie to hold. It’s Richard he’s dealing with, after all, and Richard has never been one to just let things go.

“What was I saying, then?” Richard asks, narrowing his eyes. 

“Talking about cars,” James says. It’s a wild guess, but then, isn’t Richard always talking about cars? “Your 911.”

“Maybe,” Richard says, but he doesn’t look convinced James has been listening to him after all. “But you are just saying that because you think I always talk about Porsches,” Richard says, his mouth a strict line. James wants to pull him forward by his collar and shut him up by kissing him. James is pretty sure it’d be just the thing to silence his friend. He lets out a little chuckle at his own thoughts. This is not a good thing, as Richard immediately - and perhaps not unsurprisingly - assumes James is laughing at him.

“I’ll kick you, you know,” he says. “I really will. I’ll punch you, too. On your nose.”

For some reason, Richard’s stupid puppy-dog expression makes James laugh harder. He holds a hand up to try and signal that he isn’t laughing at Richard (even though now he kind of is), and to protect himself from any potential on-coming punching. 

Richard grabs James by the front of his shirt and pulls him forward. “Stop laughing at me, May,” he says lowly, almost growling. 

That does it. James stops laughing, but not because the situation is in any way threatening, but because suddenly Richard is so _close_. He can feel Richard’s breaths on his face, can smell the alcohol in his breath. He fights to get a lungful of air himself, blinking rapidly.

“I wasn’t laughing at you,” James says. It comes out as a whisper. 

Richard yanks him forward, even closer. James could count his eyelashes now, if they weren’t so many. Richard’s eyes are incredibly brown and intensive.

“No?” Richard asks challengingly. There’s no real anger in his voice, but he’s definitely daring James to say no with his tone.

So that's what James does. “No,” he breathes out.

Richard leans in, pushing himself on his knees on the sofa. He is so close he is in acute danger of falling on James’ lap. “You sure about that, James?” He whispers in James’ ear.

James’ heart is beating like a hammer in his chest. His stomach has fallen somewhere near his knees. “Yes,” he whispers back. Everything feels so intimate and loaded suddenly. He shivers and hopes to god it isn't noticeable. He gasps for breath at the same moment Richard chooses to _bite down on James’ earlobe_. James jolts violently, instinctively landing his hands on Richard’s waist.

“What -” he starts, but it never becomes a full sentence. Richard licks a stripe down James’ neck, his hand curled around James’ bicep, squeezing forcefully, and James shivers again. He’s suddenly so turned on it’s unbelievable. He pulls away from Richard at the same time Richard decides to pull away, too. He shifts in his seat to make sure there is no visible evidence of exactly how much he’d just enjoyed whatever-the-fuck that had been.

Richard’s eyes have gone so wide it would be funny if the situation was any different. He looks horrified and shocked. James is almost certain he’s mirroring the dazed expression on his own face. It takes considerable effort for James to try and keep his breathing steady.

“Don’t fucking laugh at me, May,” Richard says under his breath eventually, and sits back in the couch, covering his face in his hands. “You don’t know what will happen.”

James touches his ear. Richard had bit him quite hard, and his ear feels hot. When he touches it, another set of shivers work their way down James’ spine. He’s glad Richard has his face covered. He feels like he is revealing far too much right now, even without saying a word.

“I wasn’t,” James says, several beats too late. Richard doesn’t look up to meet his eyes. His shoulders are shaking lightly, and for one terrifying moment James thinks he might be crying. But then the idiot that James sometimes has the misfortune to call his friend leans back against the sofa, laughing with his teeth revealed, his hands on his belly.

James joins the laughter, though he has no idea what it is that they are laughing about. For all he knows, Richard might not be laughing with him but _at_ him. It doesn't really matter, though. Laughing seems to diffuse the tension, and that is all James cares about. He watches as Richard wipes tears of laughter from the corners of his eyes. 

“You blithering idiot,” he tells Richard after a moment or two.

Richard doesn’t disagree.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Top Gear trio takes part in a classic car rally, and Richard is most definitely not jealous over James.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [This](http://www.topgear.com/uk/videos/45910687001), of course, is the video this chapter is based on, in case you haven't seen it in a while. You don't need to have seen it to read the chapter, though. Happy New Year!

Richard

Perhaps unsurprisingly, neither of them ever brings up the incident of that one drunken night. It’s not as though Richard particularly wants to have a discussion about that, if he is perfectly honest. But it keeps bothering him, not because it happened, but because he is left with a weird desire to have it happen _again_. He'd felt James shivering under his touch and it's as though a switch has been flipped in his brain. Although he had been bothered by sinister thoughts about James before that night, now he feels like he has blown the lid off of something he isn't sure he knows how to control anymore.

It keeps him up at odd hours at night. He wonders what would have happened if he’d kissed James instead. Would James have punched him? Richard doesn’t think so, but he can’t be sure. He certainly hopes James wouldn't have. In the mornings after those sleepless nights, it gets increasingly hard to look his wife in the eye.

“You are working too much,” Mindy tells him one night after a couple of glasses of wine and a board game with the kids. “You are not yourself lately.”

Richard nods, keeping his eyes fixed on his glass. Secretly he thinks he isn’t working _enough_. His feelings towards James, nice though they are, have brought on a world of guiltiness with them, and it’s only when he’s working that he can completely forget about the guilt churning inside of him. The moment he comes home, the guilt catches up with him, crushing him. He shouldn't feel this way about James; it's not fair for anyone involved. Every night, just before Richard eventually falls asleep, he promises himself he is going to stop thinking about James that way. Every morning, when he sets his eyes on James, clutching his cup of coffee in his hands in the portakabin in Dunsfold Park, he realises he's failed to keep his promise. Again.

They are scheduled to set off to Majorca in a couple of days’ time, to film the three of them participating in a time trial race, which should be interesting. They had all bid on cars in a classic car auction a couple of weeks ago, which had been an interesting experience in itself. Richard isn’t altogether sure he’s made the right choice with his car, but it doesn’t matter. The trip should be fun, anyhow.

He calls James a couple of times that day, but gives up trying to engage him in a conversation after a couple of minutes each time. James sounds distracted and not very interested in whatever Richard’s saying - which is fair enough, since Richard hadn't had anything sensible to say to him, anyway. As sad as it sounds, it had been more that he'd just wanted to hear James’ voice. He cringes when that thought hits him. He isn’t a thirteen-year-old girl, for crying out loud.

“I wish you didn’t have to go abroad again,” Mindy says to him late that night. She’s resting her arm across Richard’s chest.

“I know, me too,” Richard says. It stings that he doesn’t entirely mean his words. Every day he spends in the house, the more trapped he feels. It’s not the kids; spending time with them is his favourite thing in the world, there’s no doubt about it. But somehow everything else has begun to feel like a lie, and Richard has no idea what to do to fix it.

Majorca is beautiful, but to Richard’s dismay, they are assigned co-drivers for the challenge. It’s not like Richard gets the shortest straw - his co-driver is Brian Wheeler, who he’s met before and who is a good guy. Jeremy gets someone Richard’s never heard of and whose name he can’t pronounce, so Richard is at least better off than he is. But James gets a young and gorgeous glamour model called Madison.

It comes as a complete surprise to Richard how much he actually minds _that_. He has to keep reminding himself about the “not actually a thirteen-year-old girl” thing, because as soon as he sees the look James gives Madison, a twinge of something undefinable goes through Richard. It isn’t jealousy over James. It’s just not. Nope. No way. Never. And he does _not_ protest too much.

He decides that it must be that James gets to drive with a beautiful girl, while he’s stuck making awful small talk hour after hour and quipping poor, scripted jokes about Brian’s height.

Towards the evening, they film some idle footage of the three of them just bickering about which one of them is likely to be the best in the challenge.

“You have someone who’ll distract you,” Jeremy says to James.

Richard looks at Jeremy for a moment, as if to ask if he’s really going to go there, in front of the camera. Not that he thinks any of this will be in any way broadcastable, so he supposes it doesn’t matter.

“Who?” James asks. The facade James tries to put on is the feeblest Richard has ever seen on anyone.

“James is in love with Maddy…” Jeremy sings.

“He is. He is,” Richard agrees readily, and turns away from the camera.

“Oh, shut up,” James says, but there’s an intolerable, sheepish expression on his face that just confirms to Richard how right Jeremy is.

“He is. Already. It only took a second,” Richard says. “I heard his heart go. Dink - _ooh._ ”

“She’s a nice woman.” James says, and it riles Richard up for reasons he can't explain to himself.

“Yeah, you love her,” he says quickly.

“I heard your chat-up line,” Jeremy says.

“Yes, ‘Hello’,” Richard says. He had heard it as well, and it had annoyed him. James had bowed to her as well. As far as James is concerned, that’s pretty much foreplay. Richard decides to tell him that.

“That is foreplay for you, James May. That is four hours of foreplay!”

Richard folds his arms on his chest and laughs at James with Jeremy, who’s trying to make James own up to his feelings by singing a song. It doesn't seem to be the ideal thing to get James to open up, but after a while of Jeremy mocking him, James budges.

“I think she’s nice,” he goes eventually, looking like a school boy ashamed about his crush on his teacher. It’s all very irritating. Richard laughs alongside Jeremy, but inside he’s fuming.

They venture to a bar, and everyone is there, the crew and all the co-drivers including Madison Welch, and Richard finds it all a bit hard to let go. But then, to be fair, Jeremy is showing no signs of letting it go, either.

“Just go talk to her, you blithering idiot,” Jeremy says to James from across the table. “You like her, go talk to her. You won’t impress her by sitting there.”

“Shut up, Clarkson,” James says with an edge to his tone that suggests he is getting tired of the topic.

Richard doesn’t let that little detail bother him. “What is it about her that you like the most?” he says, his whole body turned towards James. He might be sitting a bit too close to him, their knees bumping together because Richard’s sitting almost sideways. He leans in to study James’ face. Jeremy laughs.

“What doesn’t he like about her, look at him, he’s smitten,” Jeremy says.

Richard thinks - fears - no, _thinks_ Jeremy might be right. “Go on,” he prompts. “Is it just the looks? Because James May, I never knew you to be so shallow.” He squints his eyes at James, who refuses to meet his eyes.

“I won’t dignify that with an answer,” James says stubbornly, staring at the bottom of his empty pint. 

Richard turns to Jeremy and they share a grin at James’ expense. James stands up and goes to get himself another drink without saying a word.

Richard makes himself go to bed early that night. He doesn’t trust himself not to do anything stupid, because there’s a restless energy constantly just under his skin that feels almost dangerous. He doesn’t trust himself not to push James against a wall and kiss him and shove a thigh against his crotch to see if that will be enough to make him forget about his glamour model. So he goes to have a shower, decidedly does not jerk off in there, and goes to sleep, hoping like hell that he won’t wake up tomorrow to a breakfast conversation where James has somehow managed to gather up the courage to woo Madison and get her to sleep with him.

*

He wears a tight black shirt the following day, and tries not to hover around James too much. It’s just as well, because James is definitely hovering around Madison, and somehow Richard doesn’t think there is much room for him in that equation.

Brian is good fun, thankfully, and he helps Richard distract himself from thoughts of James. Jeremy, on the other hand, is a proper pain in the arse, even more so than usually. He calls Richard up about every half an hour or so, bored with his mute co-driver and with the time trial race - no surprises there, then.

“What do you think they are talking about?” Jeremy asks him.

“Who?” Richard asks, even though he knows exactly who Jeremy means.

“James and his girlfriend,” Jeremy sneers. “You know, I would ask him, but he isn't picking up his phone.”

“You know him,” Richard says, trying his hardest not to sound irritable, even though he kind of is, again. He wonders briefly when exactly he became such a little shit. “He’s probably boring the pants off Madison.” He cringes at his choice of words. Hopefully James isn’t getting the pants off Madison in any way, whatsoever.

“Yeah,” Jeremy agrees. “What would I give to be a fly on the ceiling of that car.”

“Don’t worry,” Richard says. “It's being filmed.”

When they get to the lunch check point, they are approximately years behind everyone else. In fact, they are doing worse than anyone has ever done in the history of the classic car race. It is not an uplifting bit of news, even though Richard has no doubt it will make for good television. He would rather have won, at least the bet between himself and Jeremy and James. Now he’s going to owe either James or Jeremy (and if Richard is being honest, he knows that it’s going to be James) twenty-five quid, and it will be embarrassing and annoying.

“I’ve ruined my time!” Jeremy shouts, walking around in circles, annoying everyone who will listen to him long enough. “I’ve accidentally ruined my time!”

Richard rolls his eyes. He doesn’t want to ask how Jeremy has managed to 'accidentally' ruin his time. Jeremy wanders towards James’ car and chats with him for a while. Richard takes a few steps closer. He still doesn't want to hover around James, but he hasn't spoken to him properly all day.

“He’s only doing it to the nearest second!" Jeremy announces loudly. "Hammond, he has a flower on his helmet,” he adds, pointing inside James' car. 

“What?” Richard asks incredulously and leans in to take a look and sure enough, there’s a red flower of some sort on James’ helmet. Things are worse than Richard had expected.

“If you or I had done that…” Jeremy mutters to him under his breath after a moment. “He’d have killed us.”

“Yes, he would have, yes.” Richard agrees and can’t entirely keep an irritated edge off his voice.

Of course James wins the race; it’s right up his street, after all. He hugs Madison and she kisses him on the cheek. Richard sighs and rubs a hand over his face. He is exhausted, both physically and emotionally, and realising that is when he decides he’s just going to let it go. It’s not as if anything is ever going to happen between him and James, anyway, so if his friend happens to have a thing for a gorgeous young woman, Richard is going to try his bloody hardest not to be a prick about it. 

“Well done, mate,” he says quietly and claps James on the shoulder. 

“Thank you, Hammond,” James says and grins. He looks really happy, and Richard vows to himself that he isn’t going to be the one to take that smile off James' face.

Jeremy doesn't seem to be thinking along the same lines with Richard, however. 

“Did she kiss you?” Jeremy asks over a pint that night.

“Let it go,” Richard says under his breath. “Jeremy. Let it go.”

Jeremy rolls his eyes and mutters something about angry little Brummies, but it doesn’t matter. For the smile James flashes at Richard, none of it does.

Richard nods every once a while to whatever Jeremy is going on about, but he isn’t really listening. The alcohol is making him feel sleepy and slightly dizzy, his concentrating hard. He hasn’t even had that many drinks, yet. He supposes it’s to do with the stress of the day weighing down on him. 

He excuses himself from the table and goes outside for a fag. His hands are trembling slightly as he reaches for his packet of cigarettes. When he finally manages to light one up, he leans against the wall and closes his eyes, letting out a deep sigh. He doesn’t know how long he stands there, his eyes closed, his cigarette forgotten in his hand. 

The night air is cool and it helps him clear his thoughts. Most of the thoughts consist of him realising what a complete prick he has been for the past couple of days. He sighs again, not wanting to move, not wanting to go back inside the bar where the people are too loud and the air is thick and too warm.

For a moment, he considers calling Mindy, even though it’s late. He knows she wouldn’t mind the time, always happy to hear from him. He wants to apologise to her as well, for acting like a dick for the past few… days? Weeks? Months? He doesn’t even know anymore. Eventually he decides against it. It’s a conversation for another day, and frankly, Richard wouldn’t mind if that day never came. Suddenly, he misses his kids so much it almost hurts. With them, everything is always so simple. He always knows what to do with them.

He sits down on the ground, crossing his legs and leaning his back against the wall. He lights another cigarette and watches the smoke whirl in shapes in front of him. It’s calming. He can feel the tension in his muscles slowly leave him.

“There you are.”

Richard looks up and sees James standing next to him. He takes another drag of his cigarette, not knowing how to respond.

“I was looking for you,” James continues.

Richard raises his eyebrows. “Yeah?” he asks, not that interested. He feels extraordinarily calm for some reason. From the corner of his eye Richard can see James sitting down next to him, but Richard doesn’t turn to face him.

“Give me one of those,” James says quietly.

Richard passes him his packet of cigarettes and his lighter. “Thought you’d quit,” he says eventually, when the silence stretches on between them, making him feel distantly queasy.

“Thought you had,” James responds. Touché. Richard can feel James’ eyes on him. He leans back and closes his eyes.

“You’ve been quiet today,” James says gently after a minute or two.

Fair enough, Richard supposes. “Just tired,” he mumbles quietly.

He flinches and snaps his eyes open as James curls an arm around Richard’s shoulders. It comes as a surprise as James isn’t usually one for physical affection, and definitely not public; though they are around the corner, anyone could show up at any time. Finally Richard looks up at James. His eyes are dark, his expression serious, maybe even a little sad. Richard swallows. More than anything, he wants to lean his head down on James’ shoulder.

His packet of Marlboros is on James’ thigh. Richard closes his hand around it and leaves it there. He swallows again, though his mouth is dry. He doesn’t know what is happening, but he thinks something might be about to. James’ eyes are a shade of icy blue.

“Yeah,” James says. Richard has already forgotten what they'd been talking about and he blinks. “It’s been a long day.”

As quickly as the moment had come, it goes away; James pulls away from him, looks away, and Richard hastily removes his hand from James’ thigh. His heart is beating fast in his chest and if just a few moments ago he’d been sleepy, now he could not be more awake and alert.

“Did you have a good day, then?” he asks, trying his hardest to sound nonchalant. 

James lets out a little laugh. It’s incredibly endearing. “I don’t know,” he says. “I suppose it was alright. A bit nerve-wrecking. She put glitter on my helmet.”

Richard snickers at that. He decides the moment is right for some lighthearted teasing. “But I thought you loved her.”

James throws his lighter at him. It hits Richard on the nose and he yelps, slapping James on the shoulder.

James laughs, and somehow, in that moment, everything is alright.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Richard and James race a Porsche against the Royal Mail, and Richard may be having a mid-life crisis.

Richard

The last few weeks before the studio recordings of Top Gear are always a hectic time in Richard’s life. Every series, they would all, cast and crew and everyone, agree that this time they would do things properly and on time, so that they wouldn’t have to panic at the last moments. Every series, however, they go back on their word, presumably because they are a bunch of lazy bastards, the lot of them. This time, the last minute panic is weighing down on all of them hard. 

Richard has to apologise to his kids for never being at home. It is irritating, because he really would rather be home than spend the next couple of days on the road in what is surely going to prove to be a crappy Porsche. He likes driving, that’s a given. But to take a car from the most south-westernly point of Britain all the way to the Orkney Islands seems a bit too much, even for him. Perhaps it wouldn't be, if he was allowed to take one of his own cars, or the Zonda, but a Porsche Panamera? He has never driven it, so he doesn’t know how it’s going to be, but in brutal honesty, he isn’t even sure if he even _wants_ it to be any good. 

So when he and James set off a couple of days later, he is sort of annoyed even before he sets a foot in the car. He knows it’s going to be a long trip and that it would definitely go more smoothly if he tried to behave himself instead of being a prick, but it seems he can’t help himself. He keeps snapping at James, but thankfully his friend takes it well. It’s probably that he knows Richard well enough not to let his tantrums get to him, for which Richard is grateful. 

James keeps turning Richard’s seat heater on. Really, that should be the thing to tip Richard over the edge and make him completely lose his temper, but to his surprise it manages to diffuse the tension pretty well - at least the first five times James does it. 

“Thank you,” Richard says, his buttocks burning up. They are some very good seat heaters. If they figure out nothing else about the car, at least they can praise the seat heaters. “Do you think the novelty of that will wear off by, say, five hundred miles into this…?” 

“No,” James says lightly. “No.” His tone of voice is an indication that he is not planning to stop turning Richard’s seat heater on any time soon. There’s nothing to it, then, Richard thinks, and hatches a plan. He manages to turn James’ seat heater on five times without him realising. He throws his hands in the air. 

“Yaa! Five-all, five-all!” 

“It’s six-five, isn’t it?” James says. Of course his pedant of a friend would choose this moment to be wrong. 

“It’s not!” Richard protests. “That is five-all.” 

“Damn,” James says, and Richard laughs. 

His frustration creeps back at times, however, and he only half-listens to James drone on about the car. He cheers up a bit when they stop for drive-thru at a McDonald’s and a member of the camera crew takes pity on them and gives him a packet of Jaffa cakes. But after he is done eating it all gets worse, again. James hasn’t even turned his seat heater on for a while, now - probably because the last time he did that about fifty miles back, Richard had shouted at him and told him he’d stab him if he didn’t stop. He hadn’t thought James would actually stop, and now, as the boredom slowly settles in, he regrets his outburst slightly. 

Boredom is dangerous. Being bored makes him think about things he is not supposed to think about. He has tried not to, he really has, for the longest time now. Sometimes, he has even succeeded in pushing James right to the back of his mind, but it's difficult to push him anywhere now that Richard’s stuck with him in such a small place. It’s making him antsy, realising that much rather than driving with James across England and Scotland, he'd be in a hotel room, kissing him. Well, not just kissing him. Doing all kinds of things to him. And having things done to him. He looks at James from the corner of his eye. He looks focused. Richard wonders what he’d do if Richard just suddenly placed his hand on James’ thigh. _Shit_ , he thinks, frustrated. _That's exactly the sort of thing I'm not supposed to think about._

“Right!” He exclaims, louder than he needs to. “I can’t take it anymore, let’s pause for a coffee and then I will drive.” Not waiting for James to reply, he picks up the radiophone. “Alright, gang, we are stopping for a coffee at the next service station.” 

“Copy that,” Michael, a sound technician, replies swiftly. 

They get some Tim Horton’s from the next Spar and Richard takes over the wheel. It comes as quite a surprise to him how good the car feels to drive, and it annoys him slightly. As he gets some miles under his belt he starts to like the car despite himself. He tells as much to James, who then decides to entertain him with some Royal Mail trivia, sputtering out a fact after another, the next fact always slightly more boring than the last. 

“I don’t care about the Royal Mail!” Richard squeaks at some point. It shuts James up for all of two seconds. Richard kind of wants to punch him. Or, alternatively, grab a handful of his hair and twist it in his hand and use it to pull his head forward and kiss him so hard he’d see stars. One or the other, really, either would do. “Keep doing those, and I’ll kick you,” Richard threatens, but James just rolls his eyes at him, watching him with his head tilted to one side, making Richard feel queasy. 

Richard ends up driving most of the journey. They lose the race, of course - they had known it for a long time, but it still stings. 

“I feel dead,” he says to James. The film crew has already packed up and started their long drive back to London, happily taking turns driving the Porsche. James and Richard have chosen to fly back, instead, but as luck would of have it, their flight is delayed by four hours. He has complained so much that James has bought him the biggest cappuccino Richard has ever set his eyes on. 

“Hm?” James asks, lifting his gaze from the paper he’s been reading. He has his new reading glasses on, with which he constantly fiddles. If Richard had the energy, it would be the perfect opportunity to do some light mocking, but as it stands, he feels like he is speaking from the grave, so he doesn’t. Instead he just sighs. 

“I feel dead,” he repeats himself, and lifts his coffee cup to his lips. There is chocolate in his coffee and he smiles despite himself. “Everything is surreal.” 

“Take a nap,” James tells him, looking at him over his glasses. It's weirdly attractive and Richard's heart skips a beat. “It’s no wonder you feel groggy, you haven’t slept at all.” 

“Can’t sleep at an airport,” Richard grumbles, although he knows he has slept at an airport plenty of times before, and he also knows that James knows this. So much of his life is spent just idly waiting around at airports that if he hadn’t spent some of that time sleeping, he really would be dead by now. 

“Right,” James says, poking his glasses further up his nose and looking back down at his paper. Richard feels like a four-year-old, desperate for attention. 

“What are you reading?” he asks. It is not often that he has to ask that of James, who is usually quite difficult to shut up. Richard rests his chin in his hand and stares across the table at his friend. 

“The news,” James replies shortly. He doesn’t even lift his gaze. It is unheard of. Richard sighs. 

“You are no fun,” he says, exasperated, rubbing a hand across his face. When he tries to remember the last time he felt so exhausted, he comes up with nothing. But even though he is bone-tired and groggy, there is still a sort of frustration and restlessness under his skin, making him feel itchy. 

James sets the paper on the table and lifts his glasses on his head. “What do you want of me, Hammond?” he asks, sounding slightly irritated. Richard reminds himself that it has been a long day for James as well, and tries to keep his voice soft and friendly. 

“Sorry,” he says. “I’m just tired.” 

“So am I.” 

“I know,” Richard assures him. He rubs his hands on his thighs. “Do you want a drink? I’ll get us a drink.” 

“It’s a bit early, isn’t it?” James starts, but before Richard can reply, he goes, “Bugger it. Go on, then.” 

Richard gets them both a nice glass of white wine, and then another, and then a glass of red just for balance. It’s probably his sleep deprivation and the fact that he hasn’t eaten properly in two days, but he feels the effect of the alcohol hit him much harder than he thinks it usually would. His face feels hot, and although he isn’t exactly drunk, he finds himself letting out embarrassing little giggles at whatever James is saying. James doesn’t look like the alcohol has had any effect on him at all, but then he is often the one to hold their alcohol the best, while Richard is usually the one who ends up drunker than he'd intended. 

They sit silently for a while, Richard stealing glances at James at quickening pace. He musses up his hair a bit. It’s starting to feel a bit icky - he could really use a shower. Shower makes him think of home, and home makes him think of Mindy. Suddenly he is met with an odd urge to spill his heart out to James. Obviously he couldn't tell him _everything_ ; Richard has a funny feeling that might provide an unexpected twist to the proceedings of the evening. But looking at James' soft, kind eyes, he wants to tell him _something_. 

“You alright?” James asks him quietly, uncharacteristically observant. 

“Yeah,” Richard says. “Yeah. Just don’t really want to go home, is all.” 

James just looks at him, his expression steady and controlled. He doesn’t pry, but by not saying anything he’s silently prompting Richard to continue, so he does, though he fears it doesn’t make much sense. Richard tries to voice some of his anxieties without mentioning his feelings for James, so he mumbles a bit about how frustrated he's felt lately, especially with his home life. He wants to tell James about how guilty he feels all the time, and how much of an effect that is having on him, rendering him unable to get a full night's sleep. Of course, Richard can't tell James that, because then he'd have to also tell him _why_ he feels so quilty, and Richard fears that might not go across too well. James listens to him patiently, fiddling with his specs. 

“I’m sorry,” he says when Richard finishes his largely senseless babble. He’s quiet for a moment, not quite facing Richard. Then he says, “You’re going to get angry at me when I say this.” 

Richard blinks. If he had expected anything of James, it had been compassion, not judgement. “Spit it out,” he says, not entirely kindly. 

“You don’t suppose it’s possible,” James starts carefully, articulating each word with precision, “that you are having a mid-life crisis?” 

“What?” Richard asks, letting out a surprised bout of laughter. James just looks at him steadily, and the laughter dies in his throat. He takes two seconds to think about it and comes to the conclusion that it isn't totally impossible. It even feels like a slight relief. Maybe all of this - his stupid longing after _James_ , for crying out loud - has a reasonable explanation after all. It makes sense. He knows he has spent some time in front of the mirror, looking at his face, wondering if he can spot the moment he starts to look old. 

Feeling lighter, Richard gazes at James, who is wearing a slight smile. They sit like that for a long while, just looking at each other under their brows, James putting his reading glasses on and then taking them off time and time again. 

“Your glasses are ridiculous,” Richard says, eventually. “You poor old man! Do you reckon it will be long before they take your driving license away?" 


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Top Gear goes to wintery Norway, and James and Richard have a snowy encounter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm very bad at writing summaries. But on the upside, the plot actually moves forward in this chapter. I hope you'll like it!

James

Lately, James has woken up to nightmares more often than usually. Thankfully, he doesn’t remember any of his bad dreams, and he is constantly trying to push the whole thing to the back of his mind. It’s nothing, he tells himself. It’s just stress. 

They have been filming Top Gear so hectically in the past months and years that the moments when he is at home, in front of a nice fish pie, with a pint and a good book or some trash telly, it’s hard for him to catch his breath. He enjoys spending time alone, from time to time, and he hasn’t had a chance to do a lot of it lately. It’s starting to take its toll on him. 

The night before the cast and crew of Top Gear are set to go to Norway, James wakes up at half four, and it takes him a long while to realise that he is in his own bed, staring at the bright red numbers on his clock radio, and not in some hotel somewhere around the world. He is covered in cold sweat, and he feels nauseous. Knowing sleep is out of question for the night, he gets up and walks to the shower, resigned.

He calls Sarah in the morning. She is observant as ever, figuring out that something is bothering James in less than a minute.

“What is it?” she demands, and James tells her, because he knows from years of experience that it’s no use lying to her. She always figures it out, usually sooner rather than later.

“James,” she says, sounding serious and strict. “You need to take a break.”

“I am getting one,” James assures her. “Just this trip to Norway and then I’m going to have some time off.”

“Good,” she says, but she doesn’t sound entirely convinced, and rightly so, because even though there will be a short filming break for Top Gear, he has a lot of article writing lined up for that time.

“Anyway, Norway should be like a little holiday,” James says, trying to convince himself as much as he’s trying to convince Sarah. He decides to ignore the fact that it will be cold and snowing and he will be miserable, and tries to focus on the good things - mucking about with his friends and, if things go well, having a little celebratory Bovril.

*

James feels instantly better when he sets his eyes on his mates upon arriving at the Gatwick airport. Richard seems cheerful and energetic enough that he might be about to jump out of his skin at any moment, and he keeps pestering James and elbowing him and poking him in the ribs and pulling at various items of James’ clothing and disparaging them. Jeremy seems excited by the prospect of the challenge at hand, although as always, he is also scarily and completely unrealistically confident and convinced that this time, absolutely nothing can and will go wrong. James has his doubts about that, but he decides to keep them to himself. It’s too early in the morning for an argument.

Norway is a bit more cold and a lot more snowy than James had expected. The good news is that despite his faulty expectations, he had been cynical enough while packing that he had brought enough clothes. The couple of days of filming aren’t too bad, then, and he gets to drive their snow plow creation, which he really enjoys as it requires a lot of precision.

The hotel they stay in is lovely, the atmosphere is warm and welcoming, and James instantly feels at home. He actually feels like his mind rests here. There’s a proper grand piano in the corner of the hotel bar, and James has been itching to try it since he first set his eyes on it. Suddenly feeling a bit shy, he decides to have a few drinks before giving it a go.

“We are brilliant,” Jeremy says, sounding like a poor man's motivational speaker. “For once in our ridiculous lives. We are brilliant.”

James can’t quite find it himself to fully agree, so he says nothing. It’s true, however, that this time they haven’t been quite as hopeless as usually, so that’s something, he guesses. He listens as Jeremy tries to rile Richard up with various topics of conversation. It’s not working, Richard just keeps laughing and flipping him off and ordering more beer. After a while, Jeremy gets bored and challenges Richard to a match of arm wrestling. James doesn’t know why he bothers, because Richard, despite having a slight size disadvantage, is easily the fittest of them and he should be able to beat Jeremy quite easily.

After a moment of watching Jeremy come up with various ridiculous excuses to explain why he keeps losing, James gets bored. He stands up and wanders towards the piano, touching the keys with his fingers lightly. He sits down in front of it and stretches his fingers, trying to decide on an appropriate melody to play.

In the end, he starts by playing Clair de Lune, even though he fears it might be a bit of an obvious choice. He keeps the tempo slow and his touches soft and tender, adding a variation or two here and there. The piano plays well. He closes his eyes and lets the music carry him away. He plays Chopin’s Nocturne No 2 next. He feels the slightly melancholic tunes fit the atmosphere of the bar lounge, and no one has come to tell him off, so he figures it’s alright and lets himself be lost in trying to be as precise as possible, trying to put his soul into what he’s playing.

Every time he plays, he wonders why he doesn’t do it more often. He supposes it’s because he is so busy in his life that it’s hard to find the time for it, and somehow it’s because of that that playing now feels even better. He has made time for it, and hopefully, someone else will be able to enjoy his playing too. He presses the keys harder as the song nears its end, before the final, very quiet part. He lifts his hands off the keys, setting them down on his thighs, and keeps his eyes closed for a couple of seconds.

“Not bad,” a voice says from next to him and James almost falls of his seat. Richard has sat down next to him on the wide piano stool, and is looking at him with a small smile on his face. He has his beanie on, and cradled in his hands is a glass of gin. “A bit… well, it wasn’t very happy, was it?” His friend says. “Play something happy.”

James lifts his hands to the keys again, trying to remember how Waltz No. 1 begins. After playing a few notes, he gets stuck. “Oh, bloody hell,” he says under his breath and tries again. “Bollocks.”

Richard cocks an eyebrow next to him. He’s biting his lower lip in a way that can only be described as very, very distracting. James makes himself focus and tries once again. “There it is,” he mumbles as he remembers. After he gets into it and starts trusting his muscle memory a bit more, he risks a glance at Richard, who is the one with his eyes closed now. He’s swaying to the music slightly (even though it is really not an optimal tune for swaying). He still has his bottom lip between his teeth. James quickly looks back at the keys before he messes something up. He misses a couple of notes but hopes no one notices.

When James finishes, Richard lets out a thoughtful hum-sound. “You said once,” he begins, “that you used to try and seduce women by playing something. What was that?”

“Oh,” James lets out a surprised laugh. “Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata.”

Richard squints at him. “You say that like you assume I know what that is.”

James smirks. “Well, I did assume, because everyone knows what that is.”

“Well, I don’t,” Hammond says, clapping his hands on his own knees. “Let’s hear it, then.”

“You won’t like it,” James warns him. “It’s slow and melancholy.”

Richard just looks at him with a stubborn set in his jaw, and James decides to give in. It feels weird to play the song, he hasn’t played it for years and years. Still remembering it perfectly, though, James plays it a bit quicker than Beethoven probably intended for it to be played, but keeps a certain kind of serenity to his touches on the keys. Next to him, Richard is fidgeting, his head tilted to one side, his hands on his knees, and his now empty glass on the piano - on a coaster, thankfully.

He expects to be mocked when the song ends, but when he looks at his friend, his face is unreadable.

“And did that work for you, James May?” Richard asks softly, his voice low. He leans forward, invading James’ personal space. "Did that get you laid?"

James crosses his hands protectively over his chest, and straightens his back. “Yeah,” he says, in a challenging tone.

Richard nods. “Yeah,” he repeats, almost as an afterthought. The jest James expects never comes, instead Richard just adjusts the beanie on his head. “Come on, mate, let’s go outside for a smoke,” he says quietly and stands up, waiting for James to follow him to the lobby to find their jackets.

When they get outside, Richard walks straight past the designated smoking area with dedicated steps, not looking back to check if James follows him. James tries calling him to tell him that he’s missed the smoking area, but Richard doesn’t even turn to look at him. Sighing, James follows his friend into the darkness, to a road that’s lit with a few gorgeous ice lanterns here and there to create atmosphere and to signal where the road ends and the forest begins - there are no street lamps here.

“Wait,” James shouts out, when Richard’s pace just keeps getting faster. Richard stops on his tracks, and waits for James to catch up with him. “The smoking area is just outside the hotel,” James tells him, though he expects Richard already knows that.

“I know that,” Richard says, and starts walking again. James doesn’t bother asking where they are headed, doubting even Richard knows.

They walk in silence for quite a while. It has just stopped snowing, and everything is extraordinarily quiet. The sort of quiet you can hear - the sort of quiet that when you stop to listen to it, echoes in your head. The only thing they can actually hear are their steps on the fresh snow and the materials of their jackets rustling, and their own breathing. It’s nice. James is content to just let the moment take him.

After some time, Richard turns off the road to a small trail in the snow. His profile looks so decisive that James doesn’t dare to question him, so he just follows him into the forest without saying anything. The path gets a little tough-going, and Richard keeps up a good pace that has James out of his breath after a minute or two. He also really needs that fag, now. He can hardly see where he is stepping, the forest thick above them, not letting enough light through. Not to mention the trail is barely there, anyway, since it has just been snowing. He wishes Richard had told him he was going to take him for a spontaneous midnight exploration. He would have brought a torch. And maybe his fur hat as well.

Just as James is about to gather up the courage to ask Richard if he’s going to make him walk a lot further - it must be well over a mile they have walked already - the trail widens and they come across what looks like a small pond. The walking trail goes around it, but Richard halts his steps for a moment, before running across the untouched snow.

“Come on, James,” he shouts out happily, the first words out of his mouth in a long while. 

James walks after him. It’s surprisingly not that dark anymore, the moonlight bouncing off the snow and lighting up their surroundings. “How did you know to come here?” James asks, baffled. If there had been a pamphlet in their hotel rooms about this, James had managed to miss it completely.

Richard just smiles, looking ecstatic like a little boy seeing snow for the first time in his life. Then he suddenly drops on his bottom and lies back on the snow, spreading his arms and legs wide.

“Come on, James,” Richard says again. “You have to see this.”

“I can look at the sky on my feet,” James protests quietly, walking to stand next to his friend. Richard smacks him in the shin, hard.

“Come on,” he says, and James gives in. He sits down on the snow and lies on his back, fighting to get the hood of his jacket to cover the back of his head.

“Look,” Richard says and points up at the sky.

James looks. It is beautiful - he isn’t sure he has ever seen quite so many stars, quite so clearly. On their trips, he has seen many a good night sky, but the contrast the snow brings against the black sky is extraordinary. And Richard had been right, it is better lying down, because he can see the edges of the forest from the corners of his eyes, framing the sky.

“It’s gorgeous,” James says - almost whispers. He turns his head to look at Richard and sees him looking back at him.

“Yes, it is,” Richard says, staring at him in the eye with his dark eyes searching James’ face. Instinctively, James licks his lips. Richard’s eyes dart to James' tongue, and suddenly James finds it hard to breathe.

He thinks it might be one of those moments that they have danced around for years, now. His heart is beating rapidly in his chest.

Before he can grasp it, the moment seems to be gone again, as Richard sits up.

“Where’s the Bovril when you need it, eh?” he asks, his back to James. James looks back at the sky and doesn’t get up. There’s a distant feeling of disappointment in the pit of his stomach over something he’d almost thought might happen, after all this time.

“Thought you only wanted it if it meant something dirty,” James mumbles without thinking it over, referring to something Richard had said earlier during filming. Richard turns to look at him, leaning down on his elbow. Suddenly he’s very close, his face only inches from James’. He looks thoughtful, worrying his lip between his teeth again, the little sod.

“Yeah, I did say that, didn’t I?” Hammond asks, sounding distracted, his expression somehow distant. He seems to snap out of it after a while, shaking his head slightly. “Are you cold?” he asks, leaning closer yet to James and peering down at his face. “Your lips look blue.”

James swallows, and opens his mouth to reply. He never gets to, because as he tries to find the words, Richard leans so close that their noses bump together. “I’ll warm you up,” he whispers, and leans down to kiss James.

It’s over before James understands what’s happening, Richard putting a few inches of space between them, looking down at James intently. “Is that alright?” he asks in the softest of tones, and James has never heard him sound so vulnerable. It takes him entirely too long to nod, but when he eventually does, Richard sits up, yanks him forward by the front of his jacket and crushes their mouths together for a far less tentative encounter.

Richard’s fingers on James’ jaw are cold, guiding the kiss, but his lips are warm. James’ arms are limp against his sides, but when Richard touches his bottom lip with his tongue softly, it’s like a bolt of lightning goes through him, and he grabs Richard by the waist, not caring even though his jacket is covered in snow and he has no gloves on.

When Richard pulls back from the kiss a moment later, James has to gasp for air. He’s sure his own expression is mirrored on Richard’s face - the man’s eyes have gone incredibly wide, and his mouth is hanging half-open. With a deeply unpleasant twist to his insides, James realises Richard looks shocked. He pulls his hands off Richard’s waist quickly, and it's only then that he realises how much they are beginning to hurt from the cold.

“Ow, my hands,” he says without thinking. Richard just stares at him, apparently rendered speechless, his eyes wide like cherry pies. It would be a comical sight if it wasn’t for the seriousness and fragility of the situation. “Ow, fucking ow.”

Richard closes his mouth and swallows, leaning away from James, and sitting down on the snow, looking lost.

“That was,” he starts but halts, his voice small and shaky, and James knows what he is about to say, can feel it in the pit of his stomach. Suddenly wanting to throw up, James tries to rub his hands together to warm them up. He can no longer feel some of his fingers, and the ones he does feel hurt like hell, and he doesn't want to hear Richard apologising to him or telling him he'd made a mistake. He thinks he might crumble down to a million tiny little pieces if the words come out of Richard's mouth. 

"I'm not... I don't -"

“Don’t say it,” James interrupts sternly, barely keeping himself from bursting into tears. His jeans suddenly seem to be full of snow, and he is shivering. “Don’t say it was a mistake, I don’t want to hear it.”

“I -” Richard starts again, sounding miserable.

“Don’t,” James says. “Just, just - shut up. Please.” He takes a few deep breaths to try and regain control of himself. “I need to get inside, I’m going to freeze to death,” he says, avoiding Richard’s gaze and standing up.

They don’t speak on the way back. If he’d felt comfortable and almost dreamy on the way to the pond, on the way back he just feels unutterably miserable and cold enough that he is convinced he is going to catch pneumonia.

Back in the hotel lobby, Richard grabs him by the elbow. James turns around reluctantly. Richard looks incredibly distressed, and he’s trembling slightly. James doesn’t know if it’s from the cold or something else.

“James, can I just -”

“Can we just not do this?” James pleads, his voice cracking in the middle of the sentence. 

“We got this all wrong,” Richard says and his voice is tiny. James has never seen his mate cry, but he thinks Richard might not be far off from that point, now. But then, neither is James. “Let me just -”

James waits, but Richard only rubs a shaky hand over his face, his eyelids fluttering dangerously, and James isn't equipped to deal with _any_ of this.

“It’s alright,” he says, even though it’s not, even though he feels worse than he's felt in years. It had been Hammond who had kissed him, after all, and for him to just… go back on it like that. It's not okay. “It’s okay,” James repeats. He even attempts a smile that he’s sure never reaches his eyes.

“I’ll see you in the morning, Hammond,” he says and leaves Richard standing in the empty lobby, his head in his hands. Trembling.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Richard takes James for a night drive to try and sort things out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for taking longer than originally intended to update, this chapter kind of blew up in my face. I hope it didn't turn out too bad.

Richard

"It's Norway, Hammond, not Vietnam. That's toast, not a cow's penis. Eat."

"Cows don't have penises," Richard mutters. He scowls at Jeremy and takes a reluctant bite of his toast. He isn't hungry, too busy feeling nauseous over the fact that James hasn't made it down for breakfast yet. " _Bulls_ have penises, you daft twat."

"Harsh," Jeremy says, and Richard sighs, knowing he's right. "Where's James, anyway? He couldn't have got lost between his hotel room and the restaurant, could he?" Jeremy considers this for a moment. "Actually, I wouldn't put it past him," he says, and a few members of the crew laugh. Jeremy turns to look at Richard like he expects Richard knows where James is.

Richard's stomach turns over. "I don't know," he says, trying not to sound too defensive. He gives a non-committal shrug, not quite meeting Jeremy's eyes, afraid that he'll somehow be able to decipher everything that has happened from Richard's gaze. 

James manages to avoid him for the rest of the day. He even changes his seat on the plane with a member of the crew so that he doesn’t have to sit near Richard, claiming that he wants to be near the window. But Richard knows it’s bollocks, and frankly, a low blow of him. James has never cared about where he sits on the plane, and neither does he now - he just can’t face Richard after what happened.

It hurts, more than Richard could ever have expected. As he avoids looking over at James' direction, Richard thinks he would have honestly preferred if James had just punched him in the face. But of course, James would never do that, so instead of a concrete pain that Richard could deal with, there's a dull ache somewhere inside of him that painkillers don't work on. Richard feels like shit. He tells everyone who asks him if he is okay that he has the worst hangover in his life, joking that he now knows what it’s like to get old. No one questions it, and Richard is grateful. In reality, though, his headache has nothing to do with how much he'd drunk last night, and everything to do with how much he loathes himself.

He keeps playing the events of the night in his head for days. He doesn’t know how it’s possible he misread the signs so badly. His mood fluctuates, and at times he blames James for leading him on, for not telling him off right away - for allowing him to get into it and bare his soul completely before letting him know that he wasn’t interested. But mostly, Richard just blames himself. A man of almost forty, with two kids and a wife, and he’d gone and molested his older male co-star on the world’s most watched TV-programme. He must be mad.

Mindy tries to sleep with him one night but Richard can’t do it. He doesn’t think he’d be able to get it up, and even if he could, he thinks a joyless fuck right now would just make him feel a hundred times worse. Of course, seeing the bafflement and disappointment on his wife’s face makes him feel shit as well. It’s a lose-lose situation. 

“I have a really bad headache, Mind,” he says, sounding very unconvincing to his own ears.

Mindy just nods, looking sympathetic. She is really lovely, as she has always been - way too good for Richard, who can’t do anything but fuck things up for himself and for everyone. 

He taps on the edge of the bed that night, unable to sleep, and stares at the ceiling. His heart is beating too fast in his chest and he can’t get rid of a nervous energy that is bubbling under his skin. More than anything, he wants to text James, just tell him something trivial about his day and wait for his usual witty response. Just before he falls asleep, just before half four in the morning, he decides that the next day he will take one of his nicer cars and drive to Hammersmith, apologise and sort the whole thing out. At half four in the morning, he is almost sure that he can make it happen.

When the next day dawns, however, Richard chickens out of the task at hand. Instead of driving to London, he hides in his downstairs shed all day long, not really doing anything of importance there, just fiddling with various spanners (except for the biggest spanner of them all - himself), and reorganising his cabinets (though they never were organised to begin with). It’s been five days since he flew home from Norway, and he is supposed to be back in the studio for some filming and writing in a couple of days. The thought makes him incredibly nervous.

It’s half eight, and he should be thinking about taking a shower and going to bed after a sandwich and a bit of reading. Instead, he is wondering what Mindy would say if he told her that he is going to take a little drive to sort some things out. He thinks that maybe facing James before the filming on Wednesday would be a good thing. He could apologise, and they could chat a bit, about something trivial. Things could just magically go back to the way they always were, and then maybe, eventually, Richard could forget all about James in _that_ sense, and they could return to being best friends. Maybe he could focus a bit more on his family, and learn not to think about James so much.

Filled with a sudden bout of energy, Richard digs the keys to his Porsche from a bowl and runs up the stairs before he has time to change his mind. 

“There you are,” Mindy says with a smile when she sees him. “I made you a sandwich, it’s in the fridge.”

“Honey,” Richard starts, nervously. “I have to…” he doesn’t know how he'd imagined this would go. Finding himself at a loss for words, Richard fiddles with the keys in his hands.

“Are you going somewhere?” Mindy asks him kindly. Her kindness stings, because Richard doesn't deserve it in the slightest. A familiar twinge of guilt goes down his spine, raising goosebumps on his skin and he shivers.

“I need to sort something out,” Richard says. It is not an explanation, and Mindy deserves better. He sighs. “I had a, er, me and James had a… fight,” he says eventually. “I need to sort it out.”

“I’m sorry, Rich,” she says, touching his hand. “Now I understand why you have been so distracted for the past couple of days.” She pauses for a moment. “I suppose you'll stay over at James', then?”

“I -” Richard really hadn’t thought it that far ahead, but considering that it's almost nine, and the distance from his house to Hammersmith is a substantial one, it makes sense. He nods in reply to Mindy's questioning gaze. “Well, unless he kicks me out, which he might do,” Richard says after a moment and places a soft kiss on his wife’s forehead.

“He won’t,” Mindy says confidently. More than anything, Richard wishes that she is right.

*

He sits in his car for a few minutes before gathering up the courage to punch in the security code on James’ fence and walk up his driveway. He can’t recall a time when he would have been nervous to press his doorbell, but he is now, his mouth dry and his breath hitching in his throat. He swallows, tells himself to stop being so pathetic, and presses the intimidating little button with his index finger. 

The door opens to reveal not James, but Sarah, and for a moment Richard is at a loss for words. 

“Richard!” she says, surprised. “Come in! What are you doing here? James didn’t mention you were coming ‘round - are you alright? How are Mindy and the kids? It’s been way too long since I saw you!” 

Richard steps inside James’ house, not really knowing where to start answering Sarah’s questions. “They are good,” he says eventually, while struggling to take off his sneakers. “And yeah, this is sort of an unplanned visit, I was just in the neighbourhood and thought I would stop by.” He realises how idiotic he sounds as soon as the words leave his mouth. As if he would just be ‘in the neighbourhood’ this late on a weekday evening. As if he would just ‘think to stop by’ around eleven on a Monday night. He can’t take his words back now, though, so he just ignores Sarah’s slightly confused face and is grateful that it is obvious that James hasn’t shared what happened even with her.

“Oh, okay,” Sarah says. “Well, he will be delighted. He’s been a bit weird for the past days,” she continues happily, “you know how he gets. I mean, right now he’s huddled up in his bathroom, sorting out something or other to do with one of his bikes - I don’t know, I didn’t ask.” She rolls her eyes and Richard forces out a short laugh. Unlike Sarah, Richard knows exactly what has put James in an odd mood, and he can hardly blame him. He suddenly viciously regrets coming here, and if it weren’t for Sarah, he would turn on his heels and take a run for his Porsche.

Sarah regards him for a moment, looking at him with a thoughtful expression that makes Richard feel very much on the edge. 

“Uh,” Richard begins intelligently. “I’ll go and see if he needs any help. Which bathroom is he currently occupying?”

“Upstairs,” Sarah says with a small smile and shakes her head, obviously finding the situation amusing. Richard returns her smile even though nothing has ever seemed less amusing to him, and then makes his way up the stairs, on one hand hand wanting to get away from Sarah, but on the other hand very reluctant to actually face James.

He opens the bathroom door carefully, to make sure James isn’t actually on the bog or something. Thankfully, he isn’t; instead he is sitting on the floor with his long legs crossed in front of him. There’s an engine in his bath tub, and scattered around him are a variety of tools and spanners. James doesn’t see him. Richard carefully clears his throat, stepping inside the bathroom, shutting the door behind himself.

James flinches violently, throwing a screwdriver across the room. “Fucking hell!” he lets out, a hand on his chest. “Bloody Nora.”

Richard can’t help a small, slightly panicked snicker escape him. He tries to disguise it as series of little coughs. “Hello, James,” he says when he eventually regains control of himself.

“You scared the shit out of me,” James says quietly. “I'm having a fucking heart attack, you utter prick.”

It isn’t exactly a warm welcome, but Richard wouldn’t have it any other way. He can feel his muscles relaxing, and his breathing is slowly returning to normal. James hasn't thrown him out yet; there's a chance that things are going to work out for the best. Even if James hasn't quite looked Richard in the eye, yet.

“What’s the time?” James asks. Richard guesses he has been in here for hours and has lost all sense of time.

“Half eleven,” Richard mumbles sheepishly, staring at his feet. There’s a hole on his sock that he finds utterly fascinating all of a sudden. 

“How - what are you doing here?” James asks, but he doesn’t sound accusing, just baffled, which - Richard has to admit - is fair enough. He looks at James' blue eyes and greying hair, the oily T-shirt and the pair of faded jeans he has on, and thinks he might be about to burst from emotion. James makes a move to get up from the floor, and Richard holds out a hand. James takes it.

Richard kind of wants to start crying, but it's not really how he does things, and he fears James might find it a bit odd. “I wanted to come and tell you I’m sorry,” he says quietly, a moment of soul-bearing honesty he is quite sure James hadn’t been expecting of him.

James looks at him steadily. He doesn’t smile. “Don’t,” he says after a beat or two, in the tiniest of voices.

Richard's heart sinks. “Do you - would you -” he begins hesitantly, not really knowing where he is going with the sentence. “Come for a drive with me,” he whispers eventually with a pleading edge to his tone, desperate for James to give him a chance to explain himself. At the wheel of a car, he'd feel more in charge of the situation, Richard is sure.

James stares at him for a long moment. Richard tries not to squirm too much under his scrutiny. 

“Alright,” James says after a while. “Which car did you take?”

“The Porsche,” Richard says shakily, thrown a bit by the normality of the question. 

“Of course,” James says, walks past him out of the bathroom and leads Richard back downstairs. There is an uncomfortable silence that stretches between them as Richard tries to put his sneakers back on with shaking hands. He clears his throat to say something, but nothing comes out, the silence getting thicker by the second. Just when Richard starts to feel suffocated by the situation, James opens the door and a breeze of cool night air washes over Richard's face. He breathes in deep, sees James do the same next to him.

Once in the car, James sits in the passenger seat looking staggeringly mundane, like what is going on is all completely normal. He flicks the radio on, but sets it to a low volume. Richard decides to take that as a good sign - it appears James isn’t completely opposed to having a conversation. 

The thing is, though, the times they have had a serious conversation have been very few and far between, and it has never been quite like this. Richard doesn’t know where to begin, so he just turns the key in the ignition and sets off.

“Where are we going?” James asks. He sounds calm, and Richard lets his shoulders relax.

“Er, I hadn’t really thought that far ahead,” he admits quietly.

“Did you think I wouldn’t let you in?” James asks reasonably. He sounds a bit sad, like the notion of something like that offends him slightly. Maybe it does. 

“I did think you might be inclined to throw me out,” Richard says, trying to keep his voice light. “Glad you didn’t.”

James doesn't laugh. “I wouldn’t have,” he says. Then, peculiarly, he goes, “Remind me of the top speed of this?”

Richard turns to look at him. James looks uncomfortable. “You know what the top speed of this is,” Richard says, nonplussed. James doesn’t reply. They drive in silence for a while, the atmosphere in the car so tense Richard fears something might snap soon. He takes a deep breath and opens his mouth to say something, but no words come out. After a while he mutes the radio and tries again, clearing his throat.

“Look,” Richard says, tapping on the steering wheel anxiously. “It shouldn’t have happened. I was drunk, I completely misread your signs, I thought it was something you wanted." He gives a joyless laugh. "I don’t know what I was thinking, to be honest. But I don’t want this to come between,” he waves his hand in the air between himself and James frantically, feeling feverish and unable to stop speaking now that he's started, “you know, us. It doesn't have to... I'm not going to do that again, I can promise you that much." He pauses for effect, glances at James' direction and sees him worrying his lower lip between his teeth. "I'm sorry, James. I'm an utter plum sack.”

“Right,” James says, and it isn’t very helpful, and it frustrates Richard. “You are a plum sack, I’m not disagreeing with that,” he adds after a while. Richard laughs, more out of relief than anything else. “But when you say you misread my signs... er. You didn't, to put it simply.”

It takes Richard a few moments to digest that information. He wants to ask if James is sure; if he is certain he has worded that right, because it sounds a lot like he is saying that he hadn’t been opposed to Richard kissing him after all. Richard's breathing quickens, and he stops the car at the next lay-by.

“Get out of the car,” he says steadily.


	14. Chapter 14

James

“Get out of the car,” Richard says, his voice dangerously calm. James’ stomach turns and he swallows tightly. He is pretty sure he is about to get punched in the face, and then left behind, on the side of the road, several miles away from his house. 

He doesn’t move. “Richard,” he says, trying to make his voice as soft as possible.

“Get out of the car,” Richard repeats calmly. He leans over to undo James’ seatbelt, and then gets out of the car himself.

James doesn’t necessarily want to get out. He isn’t much of a fighter, and he has to go on set in two days, and if he has a black eye or a swollen lip or missing teeth by that time, Andy is probably going to murder him. Eventually he opens the door and steps outside, leaning against the bonnet of the Porsche. Hammond is pacing near-by, his faux calmness gone. The night air is cool against James’ skin. He shivers.

Richard paces for a couple of minutes, then comes to lean against the car next to James. He doesn’t look angry, just restless, his breathing rapid. James lets out a small sigh. 

“I don’t understand you,” Richard says quietly. “If what you just said is true then what… why…” The further he gets in the sentence, the more high-pitched his voice becomes.

“You know, it would help if you used words,” James says gently. Richard snaps his eyes at him.

“If you meant what you said just then,” Richard says, not entirely kindly, his eyes flaming. “About me not misreading your signs.” He pauses for a moment, tapping his fingers against the bonnet of the car. “Then I don’t fucking understand why you freaked out and stopped me.”

James' jaw drops. He hadn’t been expecting that, and for a moment he doesn’t know what to say. 

“I didn’t freak out,” he says quickly, just a mess of words jumbled on top of one another, “you did. You freaked out and stopped and said it was a mistake, I never did.”

“No,” Richard says, shaking his head. There is a stubborn set to his jaw. “No, that’s not what happened. You freaked out and looked all disgusted and you didn’t even let me say sorry for making you feel that way!”

It's James' turn to shake his head. “No,” he says simply. “Just… no. You went all weird and stopped.”

“No, I didn’t.”

“You did, though,” James says calmly. Richard appears to be fuming beside him, his mouth a thin line. He looks at James with his brown eyes wide and unreadable. Distinctly, James wonders if he is going to get punched after all.

" _I didn't_ ," Richard grits out from between his teeth, and James realises that if he doesn't give up, they could be here all night, continuing the pointless argument. Looking at Richard fidgeting restlessly next to him, he sighs.

"Fine," he mumbles.

Then Richard leans close to him, his chest against James’ shoulder. He breathes hotly against James’ neck, sending shivers down James’ spine.

“You fucking insufferable idiot,” Richard says lowly, under his breath, his hand coming to a fist in the back of James’ jacket. “You complete fucking moron, James.”

James swallows. He suddenly feels dizzy and out of breath. The atmosphere has changed completely, and he doesn’t know how to deal with it. “Right,” he says, trying to sound sarcastic and failing as his voice breaks.

“Don’t say anything,” Richard whispers. He presses his hand flat on James’ chest and James flinches despite himself, finding himself more turned on than the situation would allow. “If we weren’t in public… do you want to know what I’d do to you right now?”

James glances at the determined set of his friend’s jaw. “Thought you didn’t want me to speak,” he jokes quietly.

Richard shakes his head and closes his eyes for a moment. “I hate you so much,” he says and takes a step back. “Get in the car.”

It takes a couple of moments for James’ legs to start working. He’s quite turned on now, and his mouth is dry and he doesn’t know what to do with himself. It takes him three tries to buckle his seatbelt. Richard watches him with an amused look on his face, his eyes wrinkling at the corners.

“Do you need help with that?” he asks with a crooked grin. Looking at him is like staring at the sun. James’ insides twist and turn in undefined anticipation. Flicking the radio on, Richard sets off. James can’t help watching how his fingers curl around the steering wheel, how his feet work on the pedals as he changes gear.

Richard isn’t oblivious to this and after a moment, he grins widely, baring his teeth. “Oh, you just wait,” he says lowly and it’s a promise of something James doesn’t quite dare to put his finger on yet, should it all crumble down in front of him. Richard glances at him, licking his lips. “You know, if I’d known it was so easy to make you speechless, I’d have done it years ago.”

The drive back to James’ house seems so much longer than the time it took them to drive to that lay-by. After a few minutes of squirming, it hits James that he could probably place a hand on Hammond’s thigh and he probably wouldn’t protest against it. He doesn’t, though. Just in case he’s somehow managed to get this all wrong, again. Just in case it’s a step too far that sets them back to square one.

When Hammond pulls up his driveway, James suddenly remembers Sarah.

“Sarah,” he says under his breath and watches Hammond’s eyes widen.

“Oh, yeah,” Richard replies sheepishly. “Should- I should probably just -”

“No, come in, please,” James says. “Let’s just… have a cup of tea or something, yeah?”

Richard looks hesitant. James says ‘please’ a couple of more times. Now that they have come this far, James is beyond reluctant to leave it there. They are both such stubborn idiots that if they don’t sort this out properly now, they will just end up getting their wires crossed again. 

“Alright,” Richard says eventually and pulls his key from the ignition. “I might want something a bit stronger than a cup of tea, though, if at all possible.”

“Yeah,” James says and steps out of the car. “Anything.”

*

James had invited Sarah around for a chat and a pint the day before, and upon seeing the state James was in she had declared, with a voice that left no room for objections, that she was going to stay for a bit. James hadn’t minded that at all; in the past days, he hadn’t been looking after himself properly, skipping meals, surviving off of pies from Tescos, and sleeping only a couple of hours at a time, waking up nightmare-ridden and then continuing with his current project (he was taking one of his motorcycles to pieces and putting it back together again. Just to see what made it tick, and to polish each part. It was a futile effort, because the bike had been in a pretty good condition anyway, but it had given him something to occupy himself with on his days off, and on occasion, it had even managed to erase Richard’s face off his mind for a moment or two).

Now, though, he wishes he had the house for himself, because it seems that he and Richard have finally reached a mutual understanding - although of course, James still has no idea where all of this is coming from, really, but he isn’t going to complain. James would like to know how far they would actually go with this thing suddenly brewing between them, but with Sarah in the house, it isn’t going to happen. He supposes he could sneak Richard into his bedroom and… do… things… with him (the word ‘sex’ at this point seems like pointlessly wishful thinking), but it would just be weird and infantile and they all deserve better than that.

Once back in the house, James does the only thing he knows and goes to put the kettle on. He hears Richard chat with Sarah in the living room. He glances at the clock. It’s late. If he didn’t know Sarah so well, he’d be surprised that she's still awake. But of course, he does know her well, and he knows she has been waiting up for him, to make sure that he is alright. She has probably already figured out that whatever had been wrong with James had to do with Richard.

Whilst he waits for the water to boil, he remembers Richard’s request for something stronger than tea and goes to search his cupboards. He must have some whiskey or brandy or rum or something that would sort of go with tea (although not without ruining it, in James’ opinion) somewhere. He distinctly remembers cramming a gift bottle of English Whisky to the back of the cupboard some months back. Just as the water boils, James finds it with a joyful, “Ha!”

He fills a tray with three mugs and a packet of biscuits - well, they are Jaffa cakes, so legally they are cakes - and the bottle of whiskey. Carrying it to the living room, it occurs to him what a bizarre situation he has found himself in. Everything is just completely weird, and he is out of his comfort zone by miles.

Upon seeing the tray, Sarah goes, “Oh no, no, sorry darling,” stands up and leans to kiss James on the cheek, “but I really have to go. I have to be somewhere tomorrow morning and I have no change of clothes here. I’m terribly sorry.” Her back is to Richard, and she winks at James, who knows perfectly well there is a whole drawer full of Sarah’s clothes upstairs. She smiles at James cheekily and says, “You boys behave, now,” before disappearing in the hallway.

James rolls his eyes. “Yeah, alright,” he calls after her. She is out the door and in her car in no time at all. Richard looks at James with his trademark wide eyes. 

“She’s got some freakish mind-reading superpowers, hasn’t she?” he asks, sounding slightly bewildered.

James nods. “She does,” he agrees.

Richard licks his lips and worries his bottom lip between his teeth. “You don’t think she knows about, er, you know, do you?”

“No,” James says. “Of course not.”

“Oh okay,” Richard says, obviously relieved. He takes the bottle of whiskey and pours a generous amount of it into his tea. James decides to follow his example. His skin is prickling, but for a different reason to before. He is suddenly incredibly anxious and the whole situation is just unutterably awkward, and he doesn’t know what to do with himself, or what to say. More than anything, he wishes he could read Richard’s mind right now. Maybe he should have asked Sarah to stay. She could have used her magical powers on Richard.

Of course, James could always stop being such a wimp and just ask what is going on in the younger man’s head. The words don’t quite reach his mouth, however, before Richard sets his now-empty mug down on the glass table and looks James in the eye.

“So, what happens now?” he asks quietly. There is a small smile on his face, thankfully.

“I don’t know,” James replies, busying himself with his tea so he doesn’t have to keep looking Richard in the eye. He truly doesn’t know, and realising how out of his depth he really is makes him feel even more uncomfortable. He takes a deep breath, still not looking at Richard.

“I know what I would like to do,” Richard says then and James lifts his gaze. Hammond looks sort of nervous but determined, his hands resting on his thighs. “I would like to pick up from where we left off about an hour ago or so.”

James swallows. “I - I think I would like that,” he stammers and Richard laughs at him. He seems to gain confidence from James’ uncertainty.

“To be honest, I was waiting for you to try and seduce me, but it seems that’s not going to happen,” he snickers.

James collects the mugs on the table back on the tray and stands up. “I don’t know why I put up with you,” he says, but can’t quite keep the fondness he feels towards Hammond out of his voice.

“Well, I think we have already established exactly why you put up with me,” Richard says. He gets up as well, following James to the kitchen. Once James sets the tray on the counter, Richard grabs his wrists and presses himself against James’ back. James’ breath hitches in his throat and he doesn’t dare move. “You put up with me because you, James May, _want_ me,” he whispers somewhere near James’ ear. James wishes he had more control over his body when a set of shivers goes through him and his cock stirs in interest already.

Richard lets go of his wrists and James takes the opportunity to turn around to face Hammond. The look on his friend’s face is feverish, almost manic, and he is staring at James' lips openly. James remembers to breathe suddenly and gasps for air, and to mask that, because he doesn’t want Richard to keep on mocking him, he grabs Richard by the biceps and turns around so that Richard is the one pinned against the kitchen counter.

Richard laughs breathily, lifts himself up to sit on the counter, and pulls James between his legs by the front of his T-shirt, pressing their foreheads together. Then he closes his eyes and kisses James on the lips tenderly, moving his hands up and down James’ arms. Carefully, James lifts his hands up from his sides to rest on Richard’s hips. Their noses keep bumping together, and James can't stop thinking about how he wishes he could go and brush his teeth, afraid that his breath is stinking. The angle is awkward and it’s like they are both scared to take the kiss further than light touches of lips against lips. It doesn't really work, but James doesn't know what to do to make it better. 

Richard grabs the front of James' shirt again and pulls away from the kiss, looks at him through his lashes with an unreadable expression on his face. James suddenly feels like he’s breaking boundaries by having his hands on Richard’s hips so he drops his arms back against his sides. Richard considers him a long moment.

“Sorry,” James says without thinking. He doesn’t really know what he is sorry for, but he is distinctly certain that it’s his fault that things aren’t going the way he’d expected. 

“Stop,” Richard says at once and lunges forward to kiss him again, but this time their teeth clash together.

“Ow,” James says and Richard quickly leans away. “Sorry,” James says again. He doesn’t look Richard in the eye, afraid that he has decided to let the whole thing drop now that it is just terrible. 

“It’s not going well, is it?” Richard asks, but he’s shaking with stifled laughter. He buries his face in James’ neck and lets out little high-pitched giggles. “Mind you, I’m still terribly turned on,” he says after a moment, his lips touching James’ ear as he speaks.

“Yeah?” James asks, his throat dry. He rubs circles into Richard’s back.

“ _Yes_ ,” Richard says with emphasis. “Do you remember when I did this?” he asks quietly and licks a stripe from James’ neck to his ear and then bites down on his earlobe, and bloody hell, does James remember. 

“Yes,” he breathes, running his hands down Richard’s sides. 

“Good,” Richard says. “Good.” He kisses James’ neck and his jaw, and then his lips, and this time it’s better, this time they get into a rhythm that makes James’ cock ache in his jeans. He touches Richard’s bottom lip with his tongue and Richard moans, opening up for him willingly, pulling James forward by his shirt. He is still sitting on the counter, his crotch pressing against James’ stomach. 

The next time they pull apart for breath, Richard swallows audibly. His eyes are huge, his lips glistening, and just looking at him is enough to make James' head spin. “Just… unbutton me, James,” Richard breathes, with a thrilling edge of desperation to his tone that James has never heard before but already can't wait to hear again.

James smiles, trying to steady his breathing. “Impatient,” he says fondly. “Should have known you would be, Hammond.”

“Just,” Richard says, working open the top buttons on James’ shirt with fumbling fingers, “fucking… touch me…”

James pulls him in to kiss him again, running his hand up Richard's thigh, stopping just before his crotch. He feels as though he’s being electrocuted, his pulse so high he thinks he might be in danger of passing out. His dick is almost painfully hard in his pants. Hesitantly, he touches the button on Richard’s jeans and tries to open it with somewhat shaky fingers, while still kissing Richard. It doesn’t work, because Richard is sitting down. Carefully, he pulls Richard down from the counter and then surprises himself by how smoothly he manages to open the button on his jeans and pull the zip down.

“Oh, god -” Richard’s moans are high-pitched between kisses, and he is touching James everywhere, moving his hands slowly over James’ bottom. James thinks just listening to him and feeling his hands exploring his body might be enough to make him come in his jeans. He breaks the kiss for some air. “Don’t stop,” Richard squeaks. “Don’t.” He seems to have it in good faith that James won’t, however, because he kicks his jeans off to the floor.

The evidence of Richard’s hard-on is clear and mesmerising. Richard lets out a helpless laugh. “Please, James, don’t just stare at it, please,” he begs, and okay, hearing him beg has a definite effect on James, who hadn’t realised it could be such a turn on. He feels dizzy, and touches Richard through his pants. Richard instantly throws his head back and lets out a groan. James pulls him in and kisses him hard, biting down on his bottom lip and feeling him tremble against his touch. It’s almost too much. He fights Richard’s pants down with one hand and curls his fingers around the younger man’s erection.

Richard gasps and leans against the counter, breaking the kiss and breathing into James’ neck, hiding his face. James works his hand over Richard’s length with a sudden bout of self-confidence, slicking him up with his own pre-come and slowly quickening the pace.

He’d never quite dared to imagine the noises Richard would make at a moment like this, but he turns out to be loud and breathless and slightly hysterical. James can’t stop staring at his face - he is completely mesmerised by how flushed Richard has gone, how his eyes keep fluttering shut, how his mouth has fallen slightly open. At times he bites his lower lip between his teeth, looking almost pained. He’s squirms under James’ touch, breathing rapidly, letting out low noises from the back of his throat. It’s hypnotic.

Richard keeps tearing at James’ shirt but to no avail - his coordination is useless. He tries to say something but James hushes him quiet, pressing a finger on his lips. He almost has a heart attack when Richard pokes his tongue out to lick his finger, his eyes wide and earnest and so willing. Sliding his other hand under Richard’s shirt and feeling the muscles there, he suddenly feels a bit shy and sheepish. Richard is perfect in every way and James is just not and…

He forgets to worry as Richard grits out a high-pitched, “James, if you don’t - I’m going to -”

Richard comes with a shudder shaking his whole body, squeezing his eyes tightly shut and groaning helplessly. It’s the hottest thing James has ever set his eyes on, and he fears he might never get enough of it. Richard presses his thigh against James' crotch, then, staining James’ jeans with his own come. He writhes against James, moaning loudly even though he's already come, whispering obscenities to James' ear hotly and out of breath, and just that little bit of friction is enough. James comes in his pants, and it feels almost blindingly good, so good that he can’t even bring himself to be embarrassed about coming in his jeans like a thirteen-year-old boy.

Richard’s grip is tight on his arms, his cheeks pink and eyes bright. “Alright, Captain Not-So-Slow,” he quips gently as James opens his eyes. It suddenly dawns on him that they’re still standing in his kitchen, almost fully-clothed save for Richard’s jeans, and it is just ridiculous. He stifles a slightly hysterical and panicked laugh.

“Okay,” Richard says, nonplussed. “I’m taking you laughing as a good sign,” he says, studying James’ face with a frown. “Let me know if it’s not.”

“It is,” James assures him and Richard instantly seems more relaxed. James rubs a hand across his face and glances at the clock. It’s very late, now. “I need a shower,” he says and Richard giggles.

“Yeah, you do, don’t you?” he says, and then, “I’ll take the downstairs bathroom.”

“Right, okay,” James agrees and climbs upstairs. 

He sits on the loo for a bit with his jeans on, even though it’s all completely disgusting.

His head is spinning.


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Richard explores the new boundaries between himself and James.

Richard

James takes a long time in the shower, even by his standards. Richard should know this, since he has effectively spent his life waiting on James. The more time passes by, with the shower running upstairs, the more nervous Richard gets. He wishes he was drunk and could just pass out on the couch, or something. But he is not drunk, even though he had a bit of whiskey earlier, and he can’t sleep because the situation is making him antsy.

Eventually Richard gets fed up of sitting on James’ couch, fiddling with his thumbs, so he gets his jacket and goes outside to sit on James' porch. He has forgot his own pack of cigarettes in his car, so he swings by one of James’ drawers and steals some of his - five should do. He wastes a bit of time trying to find a lighter, because even though James likes to think he is orderly, his order has usually nothing to do with practicality. After a moment, Richard manages to find a box of novelty matches, figures they will have to do, and slips outside.

It’s a beautiful night, stars and everything. Richard’s hair is still wet after the shower, so the air feels a bit chilly, but Richard doesn’t let that bother him. He takes a few calming breaths. He has nothing to be nervous about, after all. Everything is alright. Everything will be alright.

He blows smoke out through his nose. Everything probably won’t be alright, if he is quite honest with himself. Having just done a thing he had sworn himself he would _never_ do, not under any circumstances, ever, it’s a bit hard to stay positive. Already, even in his post-orgasmic haze, he recognises that he has done a bad thing indeed, cheating on his wife, and he knows he deserves to feel like shit about it. What makes him feel even more guilty is that he doesn’t regret what happened with James. That had been what he’d wanted - what he still wants, and, he supposes, would always want. 

“I am a terrible human being,” he says out loud and lights another cigarette.

“You’re not too bad,” James says quietly behind him, and Richard almost jumps out of his skin. James’ hair is dripping wet and he’s wearing a loose pair of sweatpants and a grey T-shirt. He has no socks on, let alone shoes, but that doesn’t stop him from sitting down next to Richard on the porch and stealing one of the three cigarettes from Richard’s lap.

“Are these mine?” he asks, distantly amused.

Richard nods and gives him a small smile. James looks warm, though he can’t be, because it’s winter and it's cold, and he is wearing a T-shirt, for god’s sake. He thinks James would probably let him lean against his side, but Richard fears it would be too odd. It's hard not to stare at James as he smokes, his cheeks hollowing. 

“Are you alright?” James asks him after a while. Richard thinks he does a pretty good job of keeping his voice light, but there are shadows in his friend’s eyes that suggest he is a bit nervous.

Richard nods. “Yeah,” he says shortly. He doesn't know how to put what’s going on in his head to words; doesn’t really know if he wants to even try. James stumps his second cigarette, Richard is smoking his third but it is starting to get a little disgusting, now, and he thinks he might be about to be sick. “D’you want the rest of this?” he asks James and holds up the fag.

James nods. “Why not,” he says and reaches for Richard’s hand, but a thought occurs to Richard and he pulls his hand out of James’ reach. 

“Alright,” he says, takes a drag of the cigarette and then leans in to James, close enough that their noses are touching. He opens his mouth and waits for James to catch his drift. Slowly, and with a confused expression on his face, James opens his mouth. Richard breathes into his mouth and James… well, James coughs. Richard grabs hold of the front of his T-shirt and snickers. “You are hopeless.”

“That was stupid,” James says, but he is laughing as well. 

Richard looks into his eyes for a long moment. Then he presses his lips against James’ yet again, closes his eyes and kisses him slowly, carefully. James lifts his hands on Richard’s face, stroking along his jawbone, up his cheekbone, down his neck. It’s good. It sends little shivers down Richard’s spine, and his dick is already stirring in interest in his pants, again. It actually makes him feel a bit victorious. Turning forty has nothing on him.

He leans back after a while. 

“I wouldn’t normally say this,” James says, “but you are quite good at that.”

“’Quite’?” Richard repeats, closing his eyes. “Think you’ll find I’m brilliant at that. And at many other things, too. Just so you are aware.” He doesn’t know what he even means by that. He probably _isn’t_ very good at relations between two men, because he has only just tried it, and even then James had done most of the work. 

James lets his comment slide. When Richard looks across to him and sees him shivering, he takes his hand and leads James back inside the house. Without exchanging any words, they decide to go to sleep. Richard settles himself on the couch, because the other potential options that spring to his mind seem absolutely and definitely too strange and slightly terrifying.

”Good night, Hammond,” James says as he begins to walk up the stairs.

”Wait, James,” Richard says, without really meaning to, and watches James stop on his heels, his gaze questioning when he turns to look at Richard. ”Are we really going to do this?”

James regards him for a long moment. ”Yeah, I think we are,” he says, after what feels like an age.

Richard nods and decides to believe him, even though he has no idea what ”this” actually entails.

*

Richard doesn't talk to James for a couple of weeks, apart from the odd friendly text message. The filming originally scheduled on just a couple of days after Richard and James’ encounter gets cancelled, and neither of them makes the effort of contacting the other. Richard knows James well enough to know that it's a good idea to give him a bit of space to mull things over. And so, even though it's weird to not have spoken to James in such a long time, it doesn't fill Richard up with an impending sense of doom. Instead, when he drives himself to Dunsfold Park, he is almost giddy with half-formed anticipation and excitement. Richard parks his 911 next to James’ Boxster and feels a little smile creep up on his face. Perhaps foolishly, he has a feeling that everything is going to be okay.

He walks to the presenters’ room with a persistent smile on his face, greeting everyone he sees on the way, exchanging a few words with everyone he knows by name. Everyone seems to be in an excellent mood, or maybe it's just his own good mood bouncing off them back to him. He hums a tune under his breath as he sits himself down on the couch next to James, who looks at him under his brows and greets with him with a careful "Good morning, Hammond". Richard flashes him what he imagines is a charming smile and sees James' shoulders relax. Jeremy is reading the paper, sitting on the chair next to Richard, squinting at the words over his glasses, a hilarious concentrated look on his face. 

Richard elbows James and points at Jeremy and they laugh, and it is like it always has been. Richard’s heart swells. Nothing needs to have changed. It’s all good. He feels great. Jeremy scowls at him over his ridiculous glasses.

“Go do something useful,” he snaps. “Make me a cup of tea.”

Usually, Richard would never comply, at least not without an argument, but today is such an extraordinarily good day that he stands up at once and goes to put the kettle on. When he comes back with a tray that has a cup of tea and some biscuits for everyone, Jeremy looks gobsmacked.

“What’s gotten into you?” he squeaks, reaching for his mug. Richard shrugs happily and looks at James, who is wearing a carefully neutral expression on his stupid face. Richard grins at him, and watches as James burns his mouth with his tea. The idiot.

They muck about on the track for half the day, each in cars they have chosen for themselves (Richard has the best car, thank you very much, and shut up now, it is the best and that is that). It’s good fun, but then it always is. Jeremy and James mock him relentlessly for his choice of car, and well, it’s not without its faults, if Richard is being fair, but he is genuinely having a lot of fun in it, so it is alright. He doesn’t mind. 

At lunch, Richard stacks his plate with chicken nuggets and mashed potato and salad, and goes to sit in a small table, his back against the catering tent. Jeremy soon comes to join him, sitting down opposite him. James sits down next to Richard and Andy joins them a couple of moments later, sitting next to Jeremy. 

“What’s the plan for the rest of the day?” Richard asks Andy, who scowls at him, though with a glint in his eye.

“You really should know that,” he says. “Rehearsal.”

Richard can feel his face fall. Rehearsing is his least favourite thing to do on Top Gear, because they never get any better no matter how much they rehearse. And because, without fail, Jeremy always goes off the script in the studio filming, so rehearsing really doesn’t help. Richard knows they have to do it up to an extent, but beyond that extent it is just pointless and boring and aggravating. And he is having such a nice day. “Don’t like rehearsing,” he mutters. His colleagues laugh.

Richard can feel James’ eyes on him, weighing him, and he swallows. After checking around to make sure that there is no one who could see what Richard is about to do, he sets his left hand down on James’ thigh. Andy is saying something and Jeremy appears to be laughing, and Richard grins, risking a glance at James’ direction. His friend has gone completely red and he is coughing, his hand on his chest.

“You alright?” Jeremy asks him, narrowing his eyes. “Try not to choke to death, May.”

“No, I’m dying,” James says and gives Richard a panicked look. Richard shoves a chicken nugget in his mouth and ignores him, sliding his hand on James’ inner thigh under the table. From the corner of his eye, he can see James’ hands shaking as he tries to continue eating.

He can hardly believe he is doing this, and that he is doing this at _work_. Although there is no one that could see what he's doing, it’s still in public, and if he'd had any expectations about how things would go between him and James and the thing going on between them, he would have guessed they’d keep it completely out of work. Completely. He has no doubts that James would have done exactly that, had Richard given him the chance. If he’s honest, he knows there’s still a chance that James will shout at him for this later on when they no longer have an audience. But for now, Richard is content to continue rubbing James’ inner thigh with his thumb, feeling extraordinarily self-confident.

He feels confident right up to the moment James suddenly covers Richard’s hand with his own under the table and moves their now linked hands over his crotch, where Richard can feel the effect he is having on the older man. Richard almost spits out his juice, freezing completely. He sputters about for a minute, just praying that Jeremy or Andy won’t pick up on it, and then tries to get himself under control. If this is the way James wants to play this game, Richard isn’t opposed to it, even though it feels terribly weird being so turned on while trying to carry on a conversation about suspension with Jeremy.

He squeezes on James’ crotch lightly, stroking him through his jeans. It’s not easy, because the angle is weird, and because James' jeans are very much in the way, and Richard isn’t about to start unbuttoning him under the table - that would be going too far, even for him. But whatever he manages to do seems to be working for James, who has now stopped eating, and is sitting with his back straightened, scratching his head nervously, looking distantly alarmed. 

After a while, Richard removes is hand. His heart is racing like mad in his chest, and he thinks that if he’d kept on going the outcome couldn’t have been good - the worst case scenario would have been beyond disastrous. He swallows tightly, says a few words in reply to Jeremy’s question, in desperate attempt to try and distract himself from his hard-on. It takes a lot of thinking about Janet Street-Porter naked, but eventually his cock succumbs, and Richard is able to stand up without raising _a lot_ of questions. He takes his tray back to the catering team, thanks them for the food, and all but runs to the presenters’ room. He leans back against the door as soon as he shuts it, closing his eyes. He desperately wants to pull down his jeans and wank off into a sock or something, but since his two colleagues are going to come in through the door at any moment, it’s not really an option. He sighs, wishing he could stop sweating so much.

He lies down on the sofa and hopes he never has to get up. Richard closes his eyes.

Jeremy and James join him in the room moments later. Richard doesn’t open his eyes.

“Come on, Hammond, let me sit here,” James mumbles lowly after a moment, tapping Richard’s shoe with his fingers. Richard opens his eyes to roll them at James. He sits up and James sits down next to him, and Richard decides to lie back down, lifting his feet on James’ lap. He can hear James’ frantic intake of breath and it makes his heart skip a beat.

“You irritating prick of a man,” James breathes quietly. “Give up.”

“Hm, let me think about it,” Richard mumbles, furrowing his brows. "It's going to be a no," he says loudly, and turns his head to look at Jeremy. “Jez, bring me my script, it’s on the microwave.”

Incredibly, Jeremy passes Richard his script, and even more incredibly, he doesn’t even comment on Richard and James’ sitting arrangement. Richard feels high on adrenaline. It’s like he is testing new boundaries between himself and James, and it's making him incredibly excited. 

“God, you are insufferable, Hammond,” James mutters after a while. Richard just smirks at him and James’ lips turn into a crooked smile, and Richard knows he's won.

The day is long and exhausting. Both Richard and James keep fucking up at the rehearsals more than usually, forgetting their lines and bursting into laughter at inappropriate times. Jeremy is not much better, going off the script in various completely non-broadcastable ways, making the crew laugh and Andy shake his head in despair. When Wilman finally tells them to bugger off, it’s late, and they are all various levels of hysterical (including Andy himself, who doubles over laughing whenever Jeremy says the word ‘trousers’). 

“We have done this show for almost ten years,” Andy says in disbelief. “We should be professional.”

“We are,” Jeremy assures him, clapping his friend on the shoulder. “We just don’t have a stick up our arses.”

Richard isn’t convinced they are professional in any way, but he is glad that the day is over. They could keep rehearsing through the night and it would not get any better. He thinks that a couple of days of sitting on it and a good night’s sleep is the best they can do to ensure a flawless studio recording come Wednesday. 

The parking lot is dark when Richard approaches his car. James’ car is still next to his, and when Richard sets his hand on the door handle of his 911, he notices to his surprise that James is sitting in his Boxster, in the darkness, both hands on the steering wheel. He turns around and opens the passenger door to James’ car, slips in to sit on the passenger seat next to his friend.

“Are you alright?” he asks quietly. James is often peculiar, but sitting in his car at an almost-empty parking lot is strange even for him. Suddenly Richard fears that one of the things he’s done over the day might have upset James. He cringes, expecting to be told off.

But James just nods, turning to look at Richard with hooded eyes. There are shadows on his face, and he looks beautiful, and Richard wants to lean over and kiss him until he feels dizzy.

“Come home with me,” James says after a few seconds. His voice is low and determined, and it has a dark edge to it. Richard’s stomach fills up with butterflies at once and he shivers. “Get in your car and follow me home, Richard.”

Richard swallows, stares James in the eyes, trying to find hints that he is joking or testing him or something. James, however, looks deadly serious. Richard’s mouth is dry and his tongue is sticking to the roof of his mouth and words are difficult, so after a moment he just nods tightly, and steps out of James’ car.

James takes off at once, leaving Richard standing in the cooling night air.


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Richard follows James home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is just pure filth, haha. Hope you'll enjoy it, though!

Richard

Richard knocks on James’ door. He hopes his knocking sounds confident, determined; but in truth, he feels shaky all over. His mind is spinning over the endless possibilities of what might happen next - he thinks he knows, but he doesn’t want to get his hopes up in case James a) has changed his mind completely b) didn’t mean what Richard had thought he meant in the first place. Knowing James neither of the scenarios seem completely beyond the realms of possibility.

James answers the door almost immediately. He doesn’t say anything, just steps back to let Richard in, his face unreadable. He shuts the door behind Richard with some force, and Richard flinches unwittingly.

“Look,” Richard begins, “maybe we should talk about th-”

Before he can finish his sentence, James has him pinned against the door by his biceps. Surprised, Richard lets out a puff of air as James pushes his whole body against Richard’s. His hand comes up to curl around Richard’s neck and he pushes Richard’s jaw up with his index finger. Before Richard can fully grasp what is happening, James crushes his mouth against his and kisses him forcefully, dominantly pushing his tongue inside Richard’s mouth at the first opportunity. Richard fights over the control of the kiss, sliding his hands, still cold from the night air, under James’ shirt, pressing down hard on his sides. James doesn’t let that bother him. Instead, he rolls his tongue around in Richard’s mouth and just, _fucking hell_. The whole thing is the hottest thing Richard knows, and he lets out a high-pitched whimper from the back of his throat.

James pulls at his hair to gain better access to his mouth, and Richard lets him, thinks he would let James do anything. The power James suddenly has over him should be disconcerting but somehow, it isn’t - somehow, it's making Richard incredibly aroused. As James bites down on his bottom lip, Richard moans almost embarrassingly loud. After a second, James takes a step back to make enough room for him to be able to tear off Richard’s jacket. Richard would kick off his shoes, but of course he happens to be wearing a pair of Converse. 

James appears to be thinking along the same lines. He steps away and gives Richard a measuring look from head to toe. “Take your shoes off, Hammond,” he urges lowly, crossing his hands on his chest. It’s the first thing he’s said since he asked Richard to come home with him, and it’s odd, because normally it’s so hard to shut him up. It’s thrilling as well, of course; it is a bit pathetic how much everything James does or doesn’t do appears to turn Richard on. He quickly squats down and tries to undo his laces as quickly as possible, feeling James’ eyes on him.

“Should we try and take this somewhere further than your hallway?” Richard asks. His voice is hoarse and more wavery than he'd like for it to be.

James nods and closes the distance between himself and Richard again, placing a surprisingly soft kiss on Richard’s forehead, his hand coming up to cup the back of Richard’s head. He lifts Richard’s jaw again and looks him in the eyes. James’ eyes are incredibly blue and full of emotion Richard is having a hard time putting a finger on. “I would like to take you upstairs, Richard,” James almost whispers, "to the bedroom," he adds, as if it isn't obvious. “May I?”

“God, yes,” Richard says at once, too far gone to even mock James for his unnecessary courtesy. “Yes, please. _Yes._ ”

James considers him for a moment, and Richard realises that just watching him is enough to make him breathless. “Okay. Good,” James says and grabs Richard by the wrist promptly, curling his long fingers around it and pulling Richard behind himself. Richard has never seen his friend move so fast, and he lets out a little laugh. James laughs as well, little bouts of nervous giggles escaping him as they stride the steps upstairs.

Richard falls half on top of James as James leaps on the bed and pulls Richard along with him. They both laugh, even though Richard’s elbow digs into James’ side in a way that can’t be anything short of painful. Richard leans down to kiss James lightly and James responds by pushing Richard on his back on the bed, throwing a leg on either side of Richard's lap and sitting down on his thighs.

“God, you irritating little sod,” he breathes, and it’s not really what Richard had been expecting, but it makes him smile and lift his thigh so that it’s pushing against James’ crotch. He’s happy to notice that James is already hard. 

“Yeah, that’s me,” he agrees and tries to lean up to kiss James, but James pushes him back down, a strong hand flat on his chest.

“You have been driving me absolutely fucking crazy all day long,” James says. He starts unbuttoning Richard’s shirt with confident fingers, no sign of the nervousness he’d portrayed during their first... encounter. “Do you have any idea how much I just wanted to -?” James leaves the thought half-way, his voice dangerously calm. “No, you don't, do you.”

When he gets Richard’s shirt off, he throws in on the floor, and it really shouldn’t be as hot as it is. Richard is almost painfully hard in his jeans, aching for James to touch him. “Please,” he mumbles, closing his eyes. His legs are starting to go numb because James is still sitting on them but he can’t bring himself to care.

James shifts, though, and Richard darts up to take his shirt off. James lets him, watching him with heated eyes, his lips parted. Richard leans up to kiss James’ collarbone. He bites down on it softly, hooking his fingers in James’ belt. Then he quickly unbuttons him, waits for James to move so he can pull his jeans and pants down. When that's dealt with, he wraps his hand around James’ erection before he can think better of it.

James is bigger than he’d expected, and the sensation of holding him in his hand and hearing him gasp as a result makes his head spin. He has never done anything like this, and it’s weird, but also exhilarating. Richard licks his lips and moves his hand up and down James’ shaft once. James moans with his mouth open and eyes closed, and it’s the single most exciting thing Richard has ever heard. His adrenaline levels spike up, and he presses James down on the bed and sits between his legs. He lets go of James’ cock to pull down his own jeans, because frankly, he’s dying. He catches James looking at him as his erection springs free and the look on his friend's face almost makes him come right then and there.

He leans down and kisses James on the mouth. James reaches a hand between them and wraps his long fingers around Richard, and then himself. Richard finds their erections as well and wraps his hand around them, letting out frantic, hot breaths against James’ neck. Rubbing against each other in an erratic rhythm should feel idiotic, but Richard fails to find it anything other than ridiculously hot. James is letting out low moans from the back of his throat, and he keeps squeezing his eyes shut and then snapping them open again, staring at Richard’s face with a look of awe.

Richard feels hysterical with lust and adrenaline and their stupid position, and he almost laughs, but then James twists his hand on their dicks _just so_ and his laugh turns into a desperate gasp instead. 

“Oh, god, James, don’t stop,” he moans, without meaning to. James doesn't.

“Holy fuck, Hammond, so fucking hot,” he mumbles under his breath. Richard has a hard time concentrating on his words. “You have no idea how much I’ve wanted this, wanted you, oh fuck…”

“Shut up,” Richard grits out, because James' words are too much and he's going to --

His orgasm hits him like a lightning and he shudders, squeezing his eyes tightly shut and seeing stars. It takes literally all of his self-restraint to keep from flopping on top of James and crushing his cock with his body, but somehow, he manages to stay up on his elbow.

James comes not long after him, his grip on Richard’s bicep so hard Richard fears it might leave bruises. It’s a fantastic sight, watching James come, and he doesn’t think he’s ever going to tire of it.

He flops down on top of James, even though there’s a sticky and rapidly cooling mess between them. His flaccid cock touches James’ lower stomach and he cringes. 

“D'you know, that didn’t go how I planned it in my head,” James sighs with a little, contented smirk on his face. Richard looks up at him, his chin on James’ shoulder.

“No?” he prompts, mocking him gently. “How did you _plan_ it, Mr. May?”

James laughs. “I was a lot more… in charge, if I’m honest,” he says and it makes Richard's throat go dry. He's pretty sure that if he hadn't just come, hearing those words out of James' mouth would have been enough to make him half-hard.

“We can always do it again,” Richard says and smirks cheekily, touching the pulse point in James’ neck with his index finger. “Right now, if you like,” he says in a teasing tone. James rolls his eyes.

“Might have to wait for a tiny bit,” he says, though, indulging Richard, who can feel the smirk on his face widen.

“Oh, you poor, miserable old man,” he mocks, sliding his fingers down James’ neck to circle his nipple. 

“Hang on,” James protests, “it’s not like you are eighteen, Hammond, give it up.”

And although it may be true that Richard probably couldn’t do it again right away, he has no intention of admitting it.

“I need a shower,” he says instead, and climbs off of James.

As he washes himself clean, he wishes he could wash away the guilt.


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've grown fond of this chapter, I hope you'll like it as well. :)  
> In other news, the timeline of this story is probably best not looked at too closely.

James

In the next weeks and months, James and Richard fall into a friends with benefits type of arrangement. It’s staggering how little actually changes, even though at first James had thought everything would be different. But it’s not. Everything is exactly the same, save for the fact that sometimes James will sneak off with Richard to kiss him in a cupboard. Sometimes, Richard will follow him home after a long day at work, and sometimes, he’ll call James to tell him he misses him, which he obviously would never have done before. But apart from that, it’s all the same, Top Gear is the same, James is the same - except happier.

It’s a Tuesday, and James, Richard and Jeremy are demolishing some houses with the usual Top Gear grace. It’s exactly as it always used to be, except when Richard sneaks into James' hotel room just as James is about to go to sleep.

“I want to sleep here,” he announces. He has just cut his hair, and his face seems sharper somehow, his eyes bigger. There’s a stubborn set to his jaw, and James knows that arguing with him will get him nowhere. It's true that he doesn't really even want to argue, more than a little pleased that Richard would choose to share his bed rather than sleep in his own hotel room, but he thinks it's best not to make it too obvious. 

“But why?” he asks, feigning frustration. 

“No reason,” Richard says with an edge to his tone that James is surprised to hear, because Richard has been in an excellent mood all day. He pushes himself against James and shuts him up by kissing him, and that’s that, Richard sleeps next to him. It’s not a big bed, so it takes a lot of effort to find a position that is comfortable for the both of them, but they survive the night. Richard smells nice, and it’s not often that he lets James hold him, even with the thing they have going on, so he is determined to enjoy it now that Richard's given him a chance to do so.

He wakes up with a hard-on, of course he does. For a couple of seconds he thinks Richard might still be asleep and he might get away with it, but then he sees his friend’s shoulders shake with stifled laughter. James sighs and tries to push Richard to the floor. 

“You fucking imbecile,” he grunts as Richard fights to stay on the bed. 

“Good morning, James,” Richard replies happily and sits up. “Did you have a nice dream?” he asks, his voice smug.

“Get lost,” James says. He’s turned on and groggy and he really needs a shower.

“Thank you for letting me sleep here,” Richard says and drops on his knees on the floor. “Come here, I want to try something,” he says and pulls on James’ knee.

James sits up at once, wondering if it's at all possible that Richard is about to do what he thinks he might be about to do.

“Come on, Captain Slow, before I change my mind. I’ve been building up courage for this for the past couple of hours…” he smirks and watches with wide eyes as James throws his pants away.

Richard gives him head enthusiastically, his technique getting better by the second. It’s incredibly good, and Richard’s hair is still long enough for James to close his fist around the ends of it, and his eyes are big and earnest when he opens them to look up at James. It’s hard to believe that Richard has never done this before, because he is very, very talented indeed. His teeth don’t graze James' length even once. James comes fairly soon and Richard looks shocked at the taste of his come in his mouth and spits some of it out. Seeing his come on Richard’s chin is one of the most erotic James has ever seen.

Richard licks his lips. “D’you know, it’s not that bad,” he says cheekily. “Rather this than fish,” he adds with a smirk and kisses James on the mouth messily. James tastes himself on the shorter man’s tongue, and he's pretty sure it should not be as hot as it is. 

But apart from that, it’s like any other Top Gear filming. They destroy some houses and drink beer, and everything is fine.

*

The next weeks fly by with everything being normal, except that sometimes Richard will drag James to their motorhome and lock the door behind them and shove a leg against his crotch and tell him he’s just _impossibly aggravating_. Often Richard is frustrated and fidgety and relentless in their encounters, pushing a hand down James’ jeans within moments and jacking him off with a desperate look on his face, biting his lip so hard it turns white.

It seems that what they are doing is addictive, and sometimes James wonders whether they are too reckless with it. One day, Richard even kisses him on the parking lot after a long day. It’s just a simple peck on his lips, and the parking lot is dark, and there are only a couple of cars beside their ones there, but it’s still in _public where anyone could have seen them_. James is sure he should find that disconcerting, consindering their whole lives are on the line here, but instead it's just a sick thrill that sends shivers down his spine. That night, when he gets home and opens the door to Richard moments behind himself, he falls to his knees for the first time and takes Richard into his mouth. It is a weird sensation, and it’s nothing like he’d been expecting, and his knees hurt against the carpet, and his mouth isn’t big enough, but the sounds Richard makes above him and the way he twists his hand in James’ hair and mutters obscenities under his breath make it all worth it. 

Once, early in the morning, when no one else has yet arrived, they do it in the portacabin. The whole thing is a ridiculous mess, with both of them in fits of giggles and James covering Richard’s mouth with his hand tightly in case someone comes in early and hears them. 

“Keep it down, Hammond,” James whispers huskily, spits in his other hand, and moves it up and down Richard’s shaft with a quickening rhythm. “Unless you want the whole world to know,” James adds deviously and watches Richard’s eyes widen, “what I’m doing to you right now. Would you like that? Would you like everyone to see what’s happening right now?” 

James doesn’t even know what he is saying, but it seems to be working. Richard is squeezing his eyes shut and letting out muffled moans against James’ hand. James regards him for a moment, stilling his hand. “D’you know,” he says softly, “we are going to have to work on your self-restraint one of these days. I would like to tie you up, bring you right to the edge, and then not let you come, until you’ve begged me…” he stops for a moment. It’s hard to tell what Richard’s thoughts on this are exactly, but he seems to be on board, shuddering under James' touch and trying to nod. “Yeah, of course, you’d like that, wouldn’t you? You dirty bugger.” He leans down to whisper in Richard’s ear. “Come for me, Hammond,” he says and Richard does, and it almost makes James come in his pants and he feels dizzy. 

When Richard recovers enough, he starts laughing breathlessly. “We have to clean this mess up,” he says, his voice full of disbelief and wonder. “I can’t believe you did this to me here,” he adds with a huge smile on his flushed face. “This is where Jeremy sits, for fuck’s sake.”

James holds up a finger and cocks an eyebrow. They have agreed that the word ‘Jeremy’ is just completely and without exception banned from anything to do with sex, because, duh, disturbing. Richard just laughs, his hands on his belly, and when James looks across to him he finds himself overwhelmed by emotion.

*

The first time James thinks something might be out of order is a few weeks later. It’s one night when Richard turns up at his door unannounced, doesn’t really talk to him at all, just undoes his fly and sucks his dick in his mouth like he is possessed. James doesn’t complain, he has lost all ability to speak, but afterwards, when Richard leaves his house almost as quickly as he’d arrived, without many words and without letting James touch him at all, he is left wondering if everything is okay. He doesn’t ask; he can’t find the words to communicate his worries without sounding like an idiot. 

Instead, after a day of not hearing from Richard, he sends him a text about the weather. James knows how stupid it is, but he is desperate to talk to his friend, to say something, and he’s just seen a bit on the news how the weather in Italy is extraordinarily nice right now, considering the time of the year, and they are set to leave to Italy in a couple of days.

 _You silly old man_ , Richard texts back after a couple of hours of nerve-wrecking silence, and with a huge sense of relief, James takes that to mean that everything is fine between himself and Hammond.

On their road trip across Italy, Richard is beyond excited to be driving his Noble, and he is wearing the most ridiculously tight purple T-shirt James has ever seen on him. He is so fit, every muscle in his body toned, and James can’t help but gaze at him hungrily. 

One of the challenges the producers have dreamed up for the trip involves driving around an oval track as fast as they dare. Watching Richard drive around the oval track makes James feel anxious, his stomach in tight knots. He knows he has to focus on his own driving, but his thoughts keep circling back to Richard. Sometimes, lying awake in the dark hours of the night after a nightmare, it occurs to him how different his life would be if Richard hadn’t survived his crash. Sometimes, James thinks that perhaps he never really recovered from Richard’s crash as well as he should have. On occasion, it appears that it's left him with something different, a deep-rooted worry for Richard now that he knows he isn't invincible. It all comes back to him as he drives around that oval track, and it’s hard to focus. James bites his lower lip and tries his best. Luckily, he’s Captain Slow. No one will be any the wiser if he clocks the slowest time.

That night, he thinks he sees a shadow on Richard’s face after he comes back from the shower, but when he blinks it's gone.

Certainly enough, the next day, Richard is chipper as ever, making turbo noises with his car. James glances at him and sees a stupidly wide grin on his friend’s face, and at that moment, James loves him so much it aches. He drives his car happily, planning how he’s going to sneak into Richard’s hotel room later.

“Turbo noises are sort of for children, you do know that, don’t you?” he asks Hammond over the radio. It’s hard to keep a smile off his face.

“Right, I’m going to come alongside and give you a turbo noise,” Richard replies cheerfully. “Drop your window.”

James opens his window with a sigh. “Oh, god.”

“Three, two, one,” Richard says, and James hears the unmistakable fluttering sound of a turbo.

“This is like indulging a six-year-old child, who has learned a simple card trick,” James says, but secretly, he is very happy. His mood doesn’t go sour even when Richard’s car breaks and they have to leave him behind.

It’s almost morning when Richard gets to the hotel. He knocks on James’ door and looks weary and unhappy, and James pulls him in for a hug. They don’t hug much, it’s more of a straight to business kind of relationship they have got going on, but it feels good at that moment, and Richard is warm and he wraps his arms tight around James, breathing on his shoulder.

Richard is very quiet that night, but when James asks if he’s alright he just nods and says it’s been a long day, and James believes him. When he kisses Richard, however, he pulls away, scratching his nose. 

“Can we just sleep?” he asks sheepishly. He looks almost embarrassed, and he keeps fluttering his eyes shut and dodging James’ gaze.

“Of course,” James says at once. That night, he sleeps with his hands around Richard’s body. He thinks Richard might be skinnier than he used to be, but he can’t be sure. He rests his head near Richard’s shoulder and listens to his breathing. Somehow, he feels bleak, like something is missing. 

*

The penny drops a couple of weeks later with a loud clang. 

Richard turns up at James' doorstep unannounced. This in itself is not very alarming, as it has been happening with a consistent frequency ever since that first time he appeared at James’ door in the middle of the night. But there is something about Richard that makes James feel uncomfortable right away when he sets his eyes on him. He’s dripping wet from the icy autumn rain, shaking from the cold.

“God, come in,” James says and grabs him by the elbow, pulling him in. He wonders why Richard has chosen to stand outside rather than knock on James' door right away. “Do you want a towel?”

“I -” Richard starts. His teeth are clattering. “Yeah, please,” he says quietly, throwing his jacket on the floor and getting out of his ridiculously complicated shoes. He follows James through to his bedroom, and James throws him a large terry towel. Richard looks absolutely miserable, and James wants to go over and hug him, hold him close, and tell him that everything is going to be alright. He doesn’t, though, afraid that Richard might punch him.

“Could I have a drink?” Richard asks in a small voice, and it’s so unlike him it makes James stop on his tracks for a second. Usually Richard has a rummage through his cupboards, picking whatever he likes, without asking permission and without saying sorry if he happens to open a bottle James has been saving.

James swallows. “Yeah, of course, come on, Hammond,” he says and leads the way to the kitchen. He feels a bit helpless, completely out of his comfort zone. “What would you like?”

“I don’t…” Richard says and sighs, sits down at the table and buries his head in his hands. “Anything. You decide.”

“Richard,” James asks carefully. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Richard says quickly, but it’s clear that he is not. James makes him a proper drink in the hopes of cheering him up. It doesn’t work. Richard just thanks him, his voice melancholy. He doesn’t look up to meet James’ eyes.

They move on to the couch and drink mostly in silence for a couple of hours. James turns the telly on. There’s nothing good on, of course there isn’t, but they watch Gordon Ramsay shout at some people and it manages to cauge a little laugh out of Richard. James wants to reach his hand out and touch his neck, but he doesn’t dare to now that his friend is in such an odd mood.

He doesn’t have to, though, because after a while Richard shuffles close to James’ side and slips his hand under James’ shirt. His eyes have slightly glazed over because of the copious amounts of alcohol he has drunk over the past couple of hours, but his hand is warm, and he is a steady, comforting weight against James’ side.

“I want you so much, James,” Richard says, but his voice is quiet and maybe even a bit sad, and it throws James off for a couple of moments. “I just want you so much, all the time,” he mumbles, sliding his hand around under James’ shirt, stopping to squeeze his nipple slightly. He grabs James’ thigh with his other hand, and leans up to kiss James messily. There’s not much coordination in the way Richard leads the kiss, but it’s still good and warm and Richard tastes like red wine and Jaffa cakes.

James turns so he’s touching Richard’s sides, his hands turning into fists in his shirt. He groans in the kiss when Richard pokes his tongue inside his mouth. He pulls away to catch his breath after a moment and Richard protests right away, letting out a small desperate sound from the low of his throat.

“Please, just let me,” he says breathlessly and bites down on James’ lower lip hard enough that James half-expects to taste blood. He’s hard in his jeans already, Richard always has this effect on him, but his chest feels oddly hollow. There’s something in the way Richard is gripping to him desperately, like he is scared that James will disappear if he lets go of him for one second, that is setting off alarm bells in his brain.

“It’s okay,” he tries to mumble between kisses. “Richard, it's alright.”

“Shut the fuck up, James,” Richard replies, his voice barely a whisper. He hasn’t opened his eyes for a long while. Somehow, even drunk out of his mind and his eyes closed, he still manages to find and open the button of James’ jeans. James helps to pull his jeans and pants down, while Richard pants hot, wet breaths against his neck. James shivers.

“Let me -” James says and reaches for Richard’s fly, but Richard leans away from his touch.

“No, just let me,” Richard says, finally opening his eyes, looking James in the eye, his eyes full of desperation and emotion James can’t name, doesn’t know if he _wants_ to name.

“Richard -”

“Just let me, James,” Richard repeats, placing a kiss in James’ neck. “Just let me.”

It’s suddenly painfully apparent that everything is wrong, disturbingly so, and James doesn’t know why and doesn’t have the ability to ask. He is still turned on beyond belief and it makes him feel disgusted with himself, because Richard isn’t alright and they aren’t alright and nothing is alright, and yet he can’t help bucking his hips up to meet Richard’s touch.

He comes moments later with a soft moan. Richard holds him through his aftershocks, his face buried in James' neck.

James moves his hand towards Richard’s crotch, but Richard moves out of his reach again, flopping down on the couch next to James. “Don’t,” he says quietly, with an edge to his tone that makes James feel sick to his stomach. Richard hides his face in his hands, his shoulders shaking slightly. When James realises that Richard might be crying, he flinches, utterly terrified.

“We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to,” James says feebly, even though by now he is pretty sure this is about something else.

Richard doesn’t reply. He doesn’t even move, sitting so still it’s hard to believe he is even breathing.

“Richard,” James says. His voice is rough and his anxiety is seeping though it. “You are scaring me.”

That gets a reaction out of Richard, who sits up and looks James in the eye. His eyes are red, and James has never seen him look so resigned. Watching him makes James hurt physically, somewhere in the pit of his chest. He busies himself by buttoning his jeans, because he can’t stand looking at Hammond.

“Please don’t hate me,” Richard says in the tiniest of voices. He sounds very drunk and desperate, and he grabs James by the wrist. “Please, promise me you won’t hate me,” he says, biting his lower lip. He is shaking.

James all but throws himself on him, hugging him tight against his chest, cupping the back of his head with his hand and stroking his scalp. “Never,” he promises, although he is beyond terrified to find out why Richard thinks he could hate him.

The answer comes soon enough, a broken whisper against James’ ear.

“I can’t do this anymore.”

*

The next time in Top Gear filming, they test home-made mobility scooters and drink beer and laugh and muck about.

And everything is not fine.


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With his colleagues acting weird, Jeremy is forced to take action. It goes well, as you might imagine.

Jeremy

Jeremy knows he is many things, but stupid has never been one of them. Although, in hindsight, he admits that it wouldn't hurt to be a bit quicker on the uptake.

He's standing in the rain in Hammersmith behind James’ door, because the fucking idiot has been dodging his calls for the better part of two weeks now, and Jeremy has _had_ it.

*

For the past few years, he's been watching the friendship between James and Richard grow closer. They had always been close, of course - they'd known each other long before either of them had got to know Jeremy properly - but in the last few years, Jeremy has watched them grow damn near inseparable. Six months or so ago it had got to the point where Jeremy had started to idly _wonder_. Nothing specific, just a weird feeling in the back of his mind, while he'd watched James and Richard with their heads pressed together at rehearsals, watching YouTube clips off of Richard’s smartphone. There had been other things too: the way Jeremy would walk into a room sometimes and upon seeing him Richard and James would stop talking in hushed whispers; the way James' hand would sometimes linger on Richard's shoulder; the way Richard would lift his feet to rest them on James' lap on the ghastly sofa in Dunsfold Park.

Jeremy would like to say that he figured it all out by himself, just by putting together a jigsaw of the behaviour of his friends. But of course, in reality, what had really helped Jeremy realise what his colleagues had been up to had been one late night after a lot of filming. He’d walked towards the parking lot, thinking about what he was going to eat before going to bed. He'd stopped on his tracks to try and find his car keys from the bottomless pockets in his jeans, glanced across the parking lot - and he'd seen Richard kiss James on the lips.

It's fair to say that he’d been gobsmacked at first. It hadn't been so much that James would do it with Richard; Jeremy had always guessed James to be partial for a bit of man on man action, and for a few years now, he'd wondered whether James had a thing for Richard. Jeremy had thought it would be quite natural for him to fancy Hammond, after all, what with Richard being a good-looking bloke and him and James always getting on like a house on fire.

But what had surprised Jeremy was seeing Richard do it with James. Richard had always been a renowned family man, living in the middle of nowhere with his perfect little family and about a billion pets. And even though Richard had never straight out said it, much too good of a friend to do something like that, Jeremy had always known Richard disapproved of the way Jeremy sometimes disrespected his marriage by snogging people other than his own wife while drunk. It had been a bit more than baffling, then, seeing Richard do the same thing with _James_ , and Jeremy would have never believed it if he hadn’t witnessed it with his own eyes. If he is honest, at first he hadn’t really believed his eyes, either - he’d thought it might have been someone from the crew James was having sneaky little kisses with. But then Richard had got in his Porsche, and there’d been no doubt about it. The next day at work, everything had clicked into place: the way Richard and James acted around each other had just suddenly started to make _sense_.

Jeremy had, at once, decided to keep out of it. It didn’t have anything to do with him, and he didn’t particularly want any part in it. He had enough drama going on in his own personal life, and whatever Richard and James were doing… it had been just too much.

Then, of course, James and Richard had started avoiding each other at work. It had been an abrupt and disconcerting change - when they spoke to each other, they were friendly enough, but they mainly preferred not to talk to each other. Jeremy had become truly alarmed when he'd asked them to go to the pub with him, and they had refused, each with equally pathetic set of excuses. Jeremy had decided to give it a bit of time, then, but after nothing had changed for the better during the next two weeks, Jeremy had decided that he was going to have to get to the bottom of it. He had to see if he could help, because this couldn’t go on. 

*

“Open the door, James,” Jeremy says with one of his best demanding tones. He is pretty angry, if he’s honest, but he is trying to not let it seep through his voice: he doesn't want to scare James off. “I can hear you shuffling about in your front room. Just answer the fucking door.”

James opens the door after a few moments, looking sheepish. “Sorry, Clarkson,” he says, scratching his nose. “I didn’t hear you, I was -”

“Shut up,” Jeremy says and pushes James out of the doorway to get inside. “Do you know, at least Hammond still answers me when I call him. Why don’t you?”

“Sorry,” James says again, and he isn't meeting Jeremy's eyes and it's very annoying. “I’ve been a bit -”

“Oh for crying out loud, James, save it,” Jeremy cuts him off. He can’t bring himself to listen to half-arsed excuses. “Do you want to tell me what is going on, here, then?”

“What do you -”

Jeremy holds up his index finger and waits for James to shut up. “Let’s cut the crap,” he says when there’s a nice little silence. “You shagged Hammond, then one of you freaked out and now it’s up to me to pick up the pieces, is it?”

And okay, maybe he'd been aiming for a more sympathetic approach, but he is getting angrier by the second and it seems to be impossible to get a sensible word out of James, so he thinks he is entitled to talk straight. James looks at him with his eyes almost comically wide. 

“You are delusional,” he says after a moment with a shaky voice. “Anyway, do you want a cup of tea? I just got a nice blend as a gift - I mean, I know you don’t really like tea-poncery but would you like to try it?” James buggers off to the kitchen with a speed most uncharacteristic for him - bloody damned quickly, that is - and leaves Jeremy to find a hangar for his jacket.

“I’m not delusional, James,” he shouts after his friend. He finally gets his shoes off and all but runs after James to the kitchen. “I know about you and Richard and that is fine, I don’t have a problem with that, so we can just jump straight to what happened between you two.”

James looks pale. “But how do you…?” he asks, sounding terrified.

Jeremy takes pity on him. “Calm down, you idiot,” he says, and alright, maybe he should work on his pitying voice. He goes for his smug face instead, to try and bring some lightness to the situation. “I figured it out,” he says.

“There’s no way you figured it out,” James says right away. There's a look on his face that makes him look rather like a miserable puppy, and Jeremy hates it. “He told you, didn’t he?” James draws in a quick breath, looking downright panicked. "I can't believe he told you, oh my g-"

“I haven’t even spoken to him,” Jeremy rolls his eyes. “I mean, I spoke to him, but he didn’t _say_ anything, just blabbered on about his Alfa, the blithering idiot.”

“There’s no way you figured it out,” James shakes his head, determined. “You just didn’t.”

Jeremy doesn’t say anything. He isn’t about to confess that he'd seen the two of them make out. “Just try and live with the fact that I did,” he mutters. “And then tell me what is going on.”

“Have you asked him?”

Jeremy had asked Richard earlier in the day, but Richard had flat out refused to tell him anything, and when Jeremy had told him that he _knew_ , Richard had hung up on him. Jeremy thinks it's best not to tell James that. “I am asking you.”

James leans against the kitchen counter, looking down at his toes. Jeremy sits down at the table, waiting. He knows James well enough to realise that pressuring him further now will just make getting anything out of him less likely, so he settles for waiting.

“Yes, we had a… there was something,” James says eventually, considering each of his words carefully. “I don’t know what, and I doubt Hammond does. But there was something, and now there isn’t any more, and that is the long and short of it, I’m afraid.”

“Right,” Jeremy says, tapping his fingers against the table restlessly. “You do know I had kind of figured all of that out already, seeing at it is completely unmissable?”

“Well, I can’t help you, then,” James mumbles, sounding sad. He turns around to put the kettle on, and, Jeremy suspects, to hide his face.

“Why…?” Jeremy asks softly. It is hard not to feel sorry for James. Although he is not letting much of it show, Jeremy knows him well enough to see that his friend is hurting.

“That you’d have to ask him,” James replies, his back to Jeremy.

“Oh,” Jeremy says. “Well, fuck,” he adds. “Should we not bother with the tea and go to the pub instead?” 

James turns around. He looks hesitant. “I don’t know if I’ll be very merry company,” he admits quietly.

“To be fair, you hardly ever are,” Jeremy quips, and to his delight, a little smile appears on the corner of James’ mouth. “Go on. I will even play darts with you.”

“Oh,” James says and lets out a little, joyless laugh that Jeremy hates the sound of. “Now I do know you feel sorry for me.” James shakes his head. “Will you play Mickey Mouse?”

“Yeah, whatever, I don’t care, because I won’t win, will I?” Jeremy asks. Maybe promising to play darts had been a step too far. Maybe he would have been able to get James to go to the pub with him without submitting himself to a night of misery.

“You might,” James smiles. “By which I mean you definitely won't.”

*

The evening starts out pretty well. James doesn’t make him play darts for hours on end, for which Jeremy is grateful. He buys James pint after pint, because it is clear that the poor bastard needs it. Still, the later the evening gets, the more miserable James becomes, despite the alcohol (or maybe because of it, Jeremy can’t be sure).

“He is really good at giving head,” James says at one point and just, wow, fucking hell, too much information. Jeremy mimes throwing up and almost jumps out of his seat and runs to drown himself in the nearest pond. 

“I did not want to hear that,” Jeremy states loudly instead. “Please never mention anything like ever again, please. I will have to make myself deaf otherwise. Or I might just have to plunge you to death with a hammer.”

“Sorry,” James says sheepishly. “He is, though,” he adds after a moment and Jeremy pinches the bridge of his nose. “But that’s not even it. That is not even… _it_.”

“If you say the L word, I am going to get my hammer out and break every last one of your fingers with it,” Jeremy threatens. “And your toes. You will not be able to walk.”

James doesn’t seem to be listening to him, however. Instead he has apparently found something incredibly fascinating from the bottom of his pint, because he keeps staring down at it.

“But he is the best thing that ever happened to me,” James says woefully after a few moments, and it's the most miserable Jeremy has ever seen his friend, and suddenly he's overwhelmed by a weird urge to give him a hug. “And the worst, I admit.”

“Maybe we should get you home,” Jeremy replies, feeling completely out of his depth. 

James seems to sober up at that momentarily. “Yeah, maybe,” he agrees, but he makes no effort to get out of his seat. He is still not meeting Jeremy's gaze and Jeremy is beginning to get worried that he might be about to start crying.

His suspicions are proved right when James lets out a dry sob. "I know he has a family," he says in a choked voice. "I know that. I _knew_ that. I should have realised..."

It doesn't make much sense, but then for Jeremy, nothing about any of this makes sense. He opens his mouth to say something, but nothing comes out. He's completely speechless, and it makes him feel like a fish out of water. Clapping James on the shoulder awkwardly, he swallows.

“Let’s get you a cab,” Jeremy says after a moment and pulls his mobile phone out from the pocket of his jeans with difficulty, wondering when exactly did he get so fat.

They walk outside with Jeremy holding a hand over his friend’s shoulder for support. James looks a mess, but when he turns to look at Jeremy, his eyes seem surprisingly clear.

“Don’t worry about it, Jezza,” he says. “Everything is going to be normal. It is all going to be alright… the same as always…”

Although he would like nothing more than to believe James, Jeremy has his doubts about that. He claps James on the back and tells him to watch his head as he steps into the back seat of the cab.

Before Jeremy goes to sleep, he sends a text to Richard to tell him that he knows everything. It might not be a good idea, but Jeremy thinks it's important that they are all on the same page with something like this.

After all, Jeremy knows that if they aren't careful, this could be something to potentially ruin them all.


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just wanted to thank everyone who is reading this, it means a lot! Thank you for sticking with this rollercoaster of a thing! :) x

James

James wishes he could say that Richard putting an end to things has no effect on him or that he’d known to expect it. He wishes he could say that he has been able to carry on with his life like nothing ever happened. He wishes he could say that he hadn’t fooled himself into thinking that the thing between himself and Richard could go on infinitely, that he had realised the expiring date approaching fast. 

But of course, he can’t say any of that. He hadn’t expected it, and he hadn’t seen it coming. James wonders whether that means he is naive - or even downright stupid. Surely he must be. Surely, if there had been even an ounce of sense in his head, he wouldn't have been caught so off guard by this. 

He had, naturally, sometimes wondered whether his thing with Richard was too good to be true. The thought that some day it might end had even crossed his mind once or twice. He just hadn't known to expect it so soon, so abruptly. Thinking back to the weeks before Richard had told him he couldn't be with James anymore, James wonders whether there had been signs that he hadn't seen, or signs that he'd chosen to ignore. James honestly doesn't know, can't tell whether he'd only fooled himself into thinking he and Richard were fine when in fact they hadn't been, not for a long while before Richard had put an end to things.

It doesn't take a genius to figure out why Richard had... well. James doesn’t want to say ‘left him’, because they had never been together, as such. But as pathetic as it is, that's what he feels like; like he's been _dumped_ , and it is idiotic. He hasn't felt anything like this since his early teens, and realising how stupid it is doesn't make it any easier to deal with. But James knows why Richard had told him he couldn't keep doing what they'd been doing. He has a family, after all, a lovely family at that, and James knows Richard loves them more than anything else. James' best hope had always been to come second.

Still, it had only been going on for some months, and those months had been the best in James’ life, and now that it’s over, it is a bit hard for him to remember his sense of purpose. It's not like he can just move forward with his life and stop pining after Richard: he'd never managed it in the years before they did this, and he knows with full certainty he's never going to manage it now. He doesn’t even know if he _wants_ to forget Richard, even if it would be easier. It's sad, but he doesn’t think he could ever feel for someone else what he feels for Richard. Richard has been through so much with James - and ultimately, he is one of the few people in James' life who know and accept him for who he is. Richard is one of the few people who know what James' life is like. 

The first week after Richard leaves him, James spends largely moping around in his house, refusing to talk to anyone. He goes to work in the mornings but hardly contributes to the writing and hides all the breaks with Nigel fixing whatever vehicle of his needs fixing. In the evenings, when Jeremy calls him, he doesn't pick up; terrified that he knows, scared that Richard has told him everything - even though when he stops to think about it, it’s a ludicrous idea. Richard wouldn’t do that to him. Not even now, not ever.

Finally, after a week and a couple of days, Jeremy turns up at his door unannounced and demands answers. It’s a difficult night for James, even though Jeremy, unbelievably, turns out to be sympathetic and even helpful. The next morning James has a bad taste in his mouth and one hell of a headache, and he doesn’t remember much after the third round of darts. He can only sit with his head in his hands on the edge of his bed, hoping like mad that he hasn’t made a complete ass out of himself in front of Clarkson. He thinks he might have, and it makes his stomach turn.

He tries to spend time with his other mates, just to get a break from it all, but it doesn’t make him happier. Instead it just drains him further, because their lives are so different form James’ that it's hard to find any points of connection. He sits in an uncomfortable arm chair in Phil’s house, eating badly-cooked stake pie and nursing his drink, bored out of his mind. Phil tries to bring him into the conversation by dropping a casual ‘or what do you think, James?’ every now and again, but it’s not helping. He doesn’t know any of Phil’s mates, William or Frank, and although they seem like nice blokes, James just can’t bring himself to care about any of their conversations.

“She wants to name the baby Antero,” Nick moans. “But not to worry, lads, he is going to be John.”

“Ant… What the fuck is that?” Phil says, wrinkling his nose. “It sounds like a disease.”

“She says it’s Nordic,” Nick says. “Nordic my arse, it’s terrible, is what it is.”

James has seen Richard around, of course he has. Their lives have become so intertwined together over the last decade that it would be impossible for James to try and avoid him. But it is also true that he has made a point of going home right after filming, saying no to staying behind to spend time in pubs, and when Andy had asked him what items he would prefer to do for the show, he had tried to pick ones he wouldn’t have to do with Richard. 

If he is honest, James thinks Richard might be trying to spend as little time as possible with him as well. It makes perfect sense, of course; it had been him who put an end to things, after all. But it still hurts that instead of just stopping to have sex with James, he seems to not want to have much to do with him in any way. Richard used to be his best mate, and now, sometimes, when he sits at home in the evenings and his phone doesn’t ring, it feels like he hasn’t got mates at all. 

Those nights he wakes up covered in cold sweat in the early hours of the morning, his heart racing. His nightmares seem to have returned with full force, and although he doesn’t remember them, he knows they all have to do with Richard and his crash. 

“He is _not_ dead,” he tells himself one night at 2:30 am, rubbing a shaking hand over his face. “He is not dead, he is just a prick.”

But his brain seems to refuse to believe that, and eventually it gets bad enough that James starts drinking every night before going to bed, just to be able to catch _some_ sleep. In the mornings at Dunsfold Park or at the BBC, trying to recover from a splitting hangover with three cups of coffee before filming or writing, he sees Jeremy gaze at him with uncharacteristic worry in his eyes, and it makes him feel a million times worse.

On the surface, things are fine, though. James guesses that is the most important thing for the future of Top Gear. Jeremy seems to be content with letting James and Richard deal with their difficulties on their own now that they seem to get on reasonably well again. And it's not that James doesn't get on with Richard, he still has fun with him when Jeremy is around; the first bit they film after... well, _after_ , is one where they test home-made mobility scooters, and James is sure that an outsider would never be able to tell what has been happening behind the scenes just by watching the footage of their day out. 

It’s really only when it’s just him and Richard that things are odd and awkward. Unfortunately that is enough to make James feel like things are slipping at the seams.

*

Sarah stays with him for a week, and he feels weird drinking just to be able to sleep with her around, so he doesn’t. Amazingly, he also manages to have a few nights of undisrupted sleep. It considerably lifts his spirits, and when Sarah takes him on a shopping trip, he has the best day out he has had in ages. At one point he surprises himself by laughing so hard he has to double over. Sarah looks beyond herself with joy. James watches her try on a pair of idiotic shoes (not that he is going to tell Sarah that, even though he is sure she knows), and thinks how much easier his life would have been if he had just fallen in love with her. She is perfect and beautiful and kind and good for him, but it just had never happened.

“What do you think?” she asks, prancing around on her heels, a wide smirk on her face. She is almost James’ height with those things on, and James is sure that they could be used to kill a man.

“Lovely,” he says, his voice level, and meets her eyes through the mirror. 

She turns and slaps him on the arm. “This was a test of your honesty, James May,” she announces. “And you _failed_.”

James laughs. “I’m sorry.”

“You need to buy me a nice dinner, now,” she says, pursing her lips. “I’m sorry - I don’t make the rules.”

James shakes his head. “Alright,” he agrees readily, and holds her shoulder as she tries to get out of the shoes without falling over.

Later that evening, James tells her almost everything. He is sick of wondering whether he should tell her or not, because he knows he can trust her, and keeping all of this to himself, with no one to talk it through with, is not helping him. She listens to him carefully, gazing at him over her glasses. When he finishes, she touches his knee. 

“He is an asshole,” Sarah says. “No - don’t tell me he’s not. I know he means well, but he is an ass, and that’s that. You didn’t deserve that. His family didn’t deserve that.”

“It’s not like I am innocent,” James mumbles, and to his surprise, Sarah agrees. 

“No, you’re definitely an ass as well,” she nods and lifts her glasses on her forehead. “But neither of you are bad people. You have just made some bad decisions, is all. You two can work things out.”

“Can we?” James asks lowly. He has his doubts.

But Sarah tells him they can. She says that she has never seen a bond like theirs, and that their friendship will be able to handle this. It just needs time, and for them to pull their heads out of their respective arses. She says that when they start doing things like they used to, the rest will follow naturally. James almost cries.

And he decides to believe her.

*

From that moment on, things start to get better. First of all, James starts taking little walks before going to sleep instead of drinking a bottle of wine before bedtime. It doesn’t always scare away the nightmares, but it is still better than alcohol, and at least he doesn’t have to worry about his liver (for once). After a couple of weeks, he would go as far as to say he is exercising regularly, finding his bicycle from he back of his garage and taking it out for rides around Hammersmith. As an extra plus, he loses some weight.

He also stops trying to avoid Richard, because avoided him he had, whether he likes to admit it to himself or not. The more time he spends with his short, angry, agri-yob of a friend, the less uncomfortable he feels around him. One day at lunch he catches himself nudging Richard in the ribs with his elbow, to turn his attention to Jeremy’s hilarious attempts at opening his lunch box, and they both laugh, and it’s good. It’s like it used to be. His head spins with relief. That is the first time he actually believes things can eventually be alright between himself and Richard.

A few weeks later he’s sitting in the office at the BBC, listening to Jeremy coo at him because he has managed to talk Mercedes into letting Clarkson drive their newest car (don’t ask James how he did it, he quite frankly has no idea. He also thinks the people at Merc might be a bit dim for letting Jeremy behind the wheel of their new creation).

“You are not as useless as I have always thought!” Jeremy exclaims, waving his hands in the air in front of him. “I could kiss you right now!”

“I would rather you didn’t,” James replies dryly, and watches Jeremy roll his eyes.

He leans closer to James, lowers his voice - thank fucking god - and says, “Oh right, yeah, I forgot you only let Hammond kiss you.”

James laughs heartily, leaning his head to his hands to hide his face because he is blushing. It feels good to be able to laugh about it after such a short time since things went south. Jeremy claps him on the shoulder and leaves.

“You are a fucking oaf, Clarkson,” James shouts after him. Jeremy doesn’t turn around.

“Yeah, yeah,” he shouts back.


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Top Gear films a special in Africa, and James and Richard are bad at having meaningful conversations.

James

After a few months, it begins to feel like just a dream. When James lets himself think about Richard and their brief (James hates the word) affair - and that is not very often, he is trying to take care of himself now by not worrying about any nonsense, thank you very much - it doesn’t seem real. It’s like the few months James had with Richard are from someone else’s life, and not from his at all.

It's not all bad, though, because it makes it possible for James to see Richard as the friend he’s always been for him. He even invites Richard and Jeremy around to his house for drinks and shouting over each other about whether or not Porsches are for cocks. Fortunately, even though on occasion James senses an unavoidable moment of awkwardness, things are largely fine between himself and Hammond. Richard hasn’t really stopped being flirty with him - an occasional lingering look there, a hand on the small of James' back for a fleeting second there - but that is just the way he behaves with people. James needs to remind himself sometimes that it doesn’t mean anything more and it’s never going to mean anything more. He thinks he might be slowly coming to terms with that. 

Top Gear films a special in Africa in early December. They are late with it, of course they are, but it doesn't matter: they drive through stunning countries, James is content with his choice of car, and everyone they meet is really friendly. James thinks the special might just prove to be the best one they have ever made, even if they don't quite get it together in time for Christmas.

It had been their plan to spend a night in a rubbish hotel all along, in order for the three of them to have an excuse to turn their cars into living accommodations. Still, the rooms they eventually find are about a million times worse than any of them could ever have imagined. It’s raining outside which in this place means that it's raining inside, and it smells terrible, and James is pretty sure they are all going to come back from it with every single disease known to humankind. James sighs, running a hand through his hair, and decides that it's alright. He is with his mates, and together they are hunched in a relatively dry corner of the room. They are wearing a large blanket each (thankfully a nice and clean one, brought all the way from the UK) and James is constantly being passed miniature bottles of “interesting” alcoholic beverages Jeremy has found from a near-by shop. The liqueurs are each worse than the last, terrifyingly strong, and James is sure he can feel his liver quivering inside of him. He’s quite certain one of the bottles will be the death of them all.

It turns out to be rather a nice night, despite their surroundings. Jeremy, after his initial shock about the state of the motel, has managed to lift all of their spirits by telling them hilarious stories about his celebrity friends and acquaintances. Richard is sitting next to James with his legs crossed in front of him, fiddling with the neck of his beer bottle, his knee bumping against James’ thigh every so often. A trace of stubble has appeared on his face - Richard is rubbish at growing a proper beard and can only muster a bit of hair around his chin and on his top lip, but James finds it strangely attractive anyway. He averts his gaze and laughs at whatever story Jeremy is currently telling. It will do him no good to wallow in thoughts of Hammond.

James decides to go outside to take a leak, because the bog in the motel is disgusting and he’d rather his bladder burst than go anywhere near it. He doesn’t consider himself particularly fussy about such things, so he figures his reluctance to use the facilities must really be saying something. When he stands up, Richard stands up as well.

“You going out for a fag?” He asks, the blacks of his eyes wide in the dim room.

“I really don’t see a reason to go outside for that,” James points out. “Someone has probably been murdered in Jeremy’s bed. I think it’s fine to smoke inside.”

Richard smirks in agreement. “I suppose. Where are you going, then?”

“I was going outside to have a piss,” James says dryly and watches Richard cock an eyebrow.

“I don’t really see a reason to go outside for that,” Richard says. “I’ve never stayed in a place that smelled more like piss than this one.”

James shrugs and turns on his heels. 

“I’ll come with you,” Richard announces and follows James out of the motel and into the heavy rain outside.

James feels stupidly self-conscious about taking his dick out and peeing, with Richard just standing there, observing him. He feels out of place, and he can’t think of a reason why Richard would have wanted to come out with him, to the rain, to see him wee on a plant. It’s peculiar to say the least, and it makes him uncomfortable. When he buttons his jeans, Richard clears his throat behind him.

“See,” he starts, and James turns to look at him. He is shuffling from one foot to another, looking at the ground. His hair is sticking to his head. “I just wanted to say...”

"Yeah?" James prompts impatiently, longing to be back under the blanket rather than be standing in the rain, watching Richard squirming under his gaze. Suppressing his feelings for Hammond is manageable when he is sober, in a familiar environment, and at times when Richard isn't looking like he's just emerged from a Mr. Wet T-Shirt competition. The situation they are in now? The exact opposite of that. He isn't sober, they are as far away from home and things familiar as it's possible to go without driving to space or something (James expects that won't happen until series 73 of Top Gear or so), and Richard's T-shirt is currently very much clinging to the muscles of his chest. It's bloody aggravating. "Say what you were going to say, Hammond, I want to go back inside."

"Right, er. Just that I'm sorry, is all," Richard manages eventually, looking sheepish. He is very much not meeting James' gaze, kicking pieces of gravel around with his foot.

“For what?” James asks, dumbfounded, and not entirely kindly. Richard hasn’t really done anything to be too sorry for today, save for the couple of times he had crashed into the back of James’ car - but he has never apologised for that before.

Richard ruffles his hair, cringing. “Well, you know, uh. For everything a bit, really,” he says softly, looking embarrassed. James can’t quite bring himself to believe that this is an actual conversation that the two of them are having. This is the sort of thing neither of them likes or is any good at, and therefore they have managed many a year without such an event taking place. He tries to look kind, but fears he just looks panicked and ready for the ground to swallow him instead.

“You don’t have to… There is nothing to be sorry for,” James says, even though it isn’t really completely true. They both have plenty to be sorry for, and James wishes there was a way for him to get that across without saying anything.

“Yes, there is,” Richard argues. He seems to instantly be more in his element now that he gets to disagree with James and be a stubborn little prick. Realising that makes James feel very fond of his friend, and he hates it. “I was a dick. I hurt you. And I’m sorry,” Richard says and then falls silent for a moment, and James doesn’t say anything either. He wants to say he is sorry too, and that it is all okay, but the words don’t come to him. He partly blames Jeremy’s hard liqueurs for how surreal the moment feels. He wants to tell Richard that he loves him, because he never has, and sometimes carrying the weight of it around with him makes his chest feel heavy, his breathing hard. But of course, he doesn’t tell him that, it would be silly, and Richard would probably be angry, and James never wants to hurt him, so he just stands there, awkward, not knowing where to put his hands or where to look.

“You are a good friend, James,” Richard mumbles quietly, and something inside James' belly twists and turns unpleasantly. He swallows tightly, incapable of finding the words to return the compliment.

Back inside the ghastly room they are all huddled in, Jeremy is telling one of his favourite and most popular Piers Morgan stories. James sits down on the cold concrete floor and Richard sits next to him, close enough that James can feel his body heat through his clothes. James suddenly misses touching him so much it aches, so he reaches for Jeremy’s possibly toxic herb liqueur and cringes as it burns down his throat. That should help him forget.


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Half a year later and James almost has his life figured out again, when...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A new chapter already (because iPlayer is being a fuckwit). Sorry for the sad times, it'll get better at some point - or will it? Who knows? (Well. I do. But I'm not telling.) I hope you'll like it! :)

James

James can hardly believe it's July already; one of the disadvantages of getting old is definitely the way time just sprints by. The more time passes, the easier everything gets. It is such a stupid cliché, but time does help with healing his wounds. His life has been, for the last months, nothing if not painfully ordinary. In some ways, James is grateful for that. He has now had his portion of drama and heartache - now that it’s over, he is pretty content with just treating himself to a fish pie every now and again, having a pint down the pub, having a laugh with his friends, and doing what he loves for his work. He would be kidding himself if he didn’t think things were going pretty good for him, after all, so there is no reason for moping. Besides, it’s July, and the weather is beautiful - he doesn’t even have to travel to Italy or Spain for a bit of sunshine, it’s enough that he trots out to his own back garden in Hammersmith. 

It’s one of those late afternoons. He has brought a large cup of coffee, a Curly Wurly and a bag of crisps (onion and cheese flavour, of course) out to the garden. It’s rarely that he gets to just sit down with the day's paper and read all the news, even the ones he isn’t really interested in - just for the sake of learning something new - and he is thoroughly enjoying the moment. Being alone for a change, after weeks of hectic filming and attending all sorts of openings of envelopes, is refreshing. It's easier to breathe. He looks up at the cloudless sky, his newspaper forgotten on his lap, only the bitter ends of his coffee in his mug. London is showing its best sides.

He briefly entertains the idea of calling up one of his mates, maybe Sim or Oz, but decides against it. His frame of mind right now is too serene for him to be trying to figure out ways of describing what has been going on in his life lately. Today is just going to be a day dedicated to himself; a self-care day of sorts. He gets up slowly and goes back inside to get another cup of coffee and a big glass of water to go with it. The inside of his house feels nicely cool compared to the heat outside. He finds a pair of sunglasses after a moment of searching, goes upstairs to get the novel he is reading about the Vietnam war, and then makes his way back outside to the sun. 

Though he tries to focus on the novel, his mind keeps wandering. It has been about a week since Richard last called him, and it’s a bit weird, since usually he calls James at least every three days or so, to blabber on about various things that don’t really matter. James isn’t worried, as such; he thinks he and Richard are in a good place right now, and he doesn’t think he has done anything to upset his friend. And, frankly, even if he had, Richard’s way of dealing with hurt feelings isn’t sulking - he prefers to deal with things by a bit of angry shouting and then quickly apologising and moving on with life. James is definitely more of the sulking type, but the downfall of that has been that over the years that he’s known Richard, he has never once managed to stay mad at him for very long. Not even after certain events - and somehow, it’s reassuring.

He wonders if he should give Richard a call - but then he remembers today was supposed to be all about him, and discards the idea. If Richard wants to have a bit of space, or if he wants to give James a bit of space, that’s fine. They are going to go back to work soon enough anyway, and then they will have to stare at each other’s faces enough. It would be a lie, however, to say that James doesn’t miss Richard. To his dismay, he does. He misses most things about him: being able to make him laugh with a stupid quip or two; seeing the blush creep on his cheeks when he thinks he has done something embarrassing; the pure, unadulterated joy in his eyes when he’s won something; the desperation with which his eyelashes flutter when Jeremy does or says something that is bound to get all of them in trouble. Thinking about him makes James smile, and maybe it’s a sign of how pathetic he is - but at that moment, he doesn’t really care. He is happy.

Focusing on _Matterhorn: A Novel of the Vietnam War_ doesn’t work and he is getting a bit too hot sitting in direct sunlight, so after a while, James goes inside and decides to take a nap, since there’s no one telling him he can’t. He falls asleep almost immediately when he sets his head on the pleasantly cool pillow. 

When he wakes up, he doesn’t know what wakes him, or what time it is. He reaches for his mobile phone on the table next to his bed, not understanding what he is seeing for a moment or two, his brain still fuzzy from his deep sleep. To his surprise, and somewhat embarrassment, he realises he has slept for almost two hours - no wonder he feels groggy as hell. He sits up and rubs his eyes just as his doorbell rings.

He stretches his legs and walks downstairs, in no particular hurry. He is not expecting anyone, so he doesn’t know who it could be, and he feels so groggy that he isn’t exactly looking forward to finding out who it is and what they want. The doorbell rings for the second and third time, so eventually he rolls his eyes and jogs to the door. Whoever it is, is a bloody insistent prick.

He opens the door to find Richard standing there, in a tight white T-shirt and his favourite pair of jeans. But what catches James’ eye is that he’s holding an almost-empty bottle of white wine in his left hand. On a closer look, he appears a bit disheveled; his hair is pointing in all directions and there are dark bags under his eyes.

“Am I not going to get a hello?” he asks, and to James, it’s instantly clear that he is far from sober. His eyelids are drooping slightly and his gaze is unfocused. 

“How the hell did you get here?” James says, crossing his hands on his chest, hoping with a nervous flicker in his chest that the answer won’t be that he drove himself. He doesn’t think it’s something Richard would ever do, but it’s not like Richard walked to Hammersmith from _Wales_.

“Rude,” Richard mumbles and presses his arm against James’ chest to push him aside from the doorway. He kicks off his shoes and saunters to the kitchen. James closes the door and follows him, thoroughly baffled.

Richard leans against the kitchen counter, taking a sip from his bottle. He cocks an eyebrow. “Do you want some?” he asks and holds out the bottle. James shakes his head. “Suit yourself,” Richard says and raises the bottle to his lips again.

“You didn’t drive here, did you?” James asks carefully after a moment. Richard glares at him under his eyebrows with piercing eyes, looking like he thinks James is demented. Fair enough, James supposes, but it had been a valid concern. “How did you get here, then?”

“Took a cab,” Richard supplies, utterly unconcerned. He is staring at a distance, looking thoughtful. Hammond places his wine bottle on the table in front of him and leans his elbows back against the kitchen counter. “I think the cabbie was pleased. Certainly cost a lot, like. Fuck me.”

James sighs, thinking that at least it is good that Richard didn't drive himself - but still, taking a cab while drunk from Wales to James’ house in Hammersmith wouldn’t look good plastered on the front page of The Sun. Still, a large part of James is very happy to see his friend who, despite his current condition, still somehow manages to look quite dashing. He has clearly spent some time in the sun since the last time James saw him, and the white T-shirt seems to compliment his tan nicely. James looks at his feet. He shouldn’t stare, especially whilst he can feel Richard’s eyes on _him_.

“Not that I’m not pleased to see you,” James begins eventually, and tries very hard not to see the way Richard’s lips curl around the head of the wine bottle when he drinks from it, “but you didn’t tell me you were coming over?” He makes it sound like a question.

“Didn’t know I was coming over,” Richard tells him. It’s not particularly helpful, and after a few moments of awkward silence (on James’ part - he is pretty certain Richard is past the point of ‘awkward’), James suggests going to sit in the living room. Richard shrugs and follows him, sprawling himself down next to James on the sofa. He passes his bottle to James, who takes it and takes a careful sip from it - and then spits the liquid right back into the bottle.

“That is beyond disgusting. How can you drink that?” James asks him, incredulous.

“Determination,” Richard smirks and grabs the bottle from James’ hands. He sets it down on the table with one fluid movement, and then, suddenly, _shockingly_ , he gets up on his knees on the sofa, throwing a leg over James' thighs and straddling James’ lap, placing his hands on James’ shoulders.

“What the fuck -” James starts, but that’s all he gets out before Richard puts his weight down on his thighs and lifts James’ chin up with his fingers and kisses him on the mouth, rough and needy and very warm. He tastes of alcohol and crisps and James’ heart has gone mad in his chest and he should stop this, he knows he really should stop this, but instead his hands land on Richard’s hips and he starts kissing him back, hissing as Richard bites down on his bottom lip hard and without warning. Trailing his hands down the hollow of Richard's back, his eyes flutter shut.

When Richard pulls apart for breath, it’s been long enough that James’ legs are starting go numb. Luckily, he has far more important things to worry about, such as the fact that _this really should not be happening_.

Richard doesn't seem to be thinking along the same lines. He's looking at James with his eyes wide, his fingers digging into James' biceps. "God - James - I've missed this, you've no idea," he breathes, grinding down on James' lap once, placing soft kisses on James' jaw. James doesn't move. He's hard, and he wants this more than anything, but he _can't_. It's been almost a year, and he's just managed to fix his friendship with Richard, and now _this_. "Please, touch me, James," Richard says lowly, "Please," and it's never been harder to say no to him.

“We really shouldn’t do this,” he manages with a strangled voice, hating every word.

“But we should,” Richard breathes back, his eyes dark. James wishes he could read his mind. “I want to. I want _you_. James,” He leans down to kiss James’ neck hotly, “Please, James. I want you to fuck me.”

James freezes at that, not knowing whether to trust his ears; he certainly hadn’t expected _that_. In all honesty, it's something he's never quite dared even imagine. And now there it is, hanging in the air between them, heavy and dark and exciting and really fucking scary. James’ cock certainly responds to the idea, but his hands shake where they are resting on Richard’s hips. Richard seems to sense his shock. He nuzzles along James’ jawline with his nose, and when he starts to whisper, his lips graze James’ skin every now and then. 

“It’s all I’ve been thinking about… ever since… ever since. It's been so hard not to touch you, sometimes,” he sounds feverish and his erection is visible on the front of his jeans, and it makes James’ head spin. He wishes he was at least as drunk as Richard right now. “I can’t sleep or focus on anything. When I look at you at work all I think about is how it’d feel to have you inside me…”

“Shit, Hammond, maybe we should talk -”

“Don’t tell me you haven’t thought about it,” Richard interrupts him, lifting his gaze to stare at James. There’s raw need in his eyes, but his face looks almost too desperate, his features strained. Somehow, Richard looks fragile. “I know you want me…”

“Richard, I -”

“I want you to fuck me, James. I want you to be rough about it. I want to be able to feel you for days afterwards. Please. Do this for me.”

James has never heard Richard like this, so forward and desperate and vulnerable, somehow. He watches as Richard licks his tongue over his bottom lip. He seems to be trembling slightly.

James wants nothing more than to say yes, wants to shove Richard off his lap and pin him down on the couch and tear his clothes off him and have him, right there, right then. But there’s something about Richard that makes him hesitant. Something about the whole thing seems off. Not to mention that it shouldn’t be happening in the first place. Richard had stopped doing this with James a long time ago, and for a very good reason.

“Richard, I can’t feel my legs,” he says quietly and watches Richard’s expression shatter, his lower lip tremble. It makes his stomach twist and turn unpleasantly. Richard moves and flops down next to him, squeezing his eyes shut tight. He looks so much younger than his years it’s almost astonishing. James doesn’t know what to say. “I’m sorry,” he settles for eventually. “It just feels… wrong. I - you know it's not right.”

He flinches when he realises Richard’s shoulders are shaking. At first he thinks he might be trying to stifle a laugh, but then, to is utter horror, he realises he’s trying to swallow back tears. He freezes completely, not knowing what to say. _I did this_ , he thinks desperately, _this is my fault_. 

“Hey - it’s alright,” he says eventually, his voice shaking, wanting to touch Richard's shoulder but not quite daring to.

“We broke up,” Richard breathes out with small sob. He hasn’t opened his eyes. James’ stomach turns yet again and he feels like he’s about to throw up. “James, she is leaving me.”


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Richard hates being _that guy_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Sorry for spamming you with updates.)

Richard

When Richard wakes up, it takes him a few moments to realise where he is. He has a splitting headache, the inside of his mouth tastes like death, and he is pretty sure he is about to be sick. Realising he is on James’ couch only makes him feel worse, as memories from last night start flowing through his brain - grainy and fuzzy around the edges, but recognisable. He sits up on the couch and holds his head to his hands, trying very hard not to throw up. He slips into his jeans and entertains the possibility of just making a run for it, leaving before James wakes up. He thinks he could leave him a note or something. Saying _I’m sorry_ , or something.

Then, of course, he remembers that he didn’t come here by car. And he isn’t desperate enough to risk calling a cab to James’ house at six thirty in the morning and taking a ride all the way back to Wales. It might look a bit bad. So he makes a run for the bathroom instead, to avoid puking all over James’ couch.

He takes a shower while he’s at it, and the water running over him makes him feel marginally more human. Thinking about the forthcoming prospect of having to face James, however, makes his chest feel tight and his stomach fill up with butterflies. God, first he had fucked up things at home (though in reality, he'd done that a long time ago by falling for James), and then he’d come straight over to James’ house to fuck up things with him. The more he thinks about it, the less he wants to get out of the shower. Staying under the hot stream of water for forever sounds pretty good to him. Suddenly, it feels as though a crushing weight has been latched onto his shoulders, and he sits down in the bathtub, hugging his legs.

*

The talk with Mindy had been long overdue - months, maybe years - and still, he hadn't found a way to begin it before yesterday. It'd taken Mindy looking across to him with big, sad eyes, clutching her glass of water in her hands so hard her knuckles had turned white, and her soft words, "Richard, I think we should talk," before Richard had known he couldn't lie to her anymore.

"I'm sorry," he'd said, and he'd looked at the ceiling because looking at her shattering expression had been too much. He remembers the shuddering intake of breath, the realisation dawning on her features.

"Who is it?" She'd asked, quiet and afraid and not as surprised as she ought to have been, and Richard's breath had caught in his throat and for a moment he hadn't been able to speak. "Richard. Who is it?"

Richard had started crying, something he hadn't done for _years_ , and from the corners of his eyes he'd seen Mindy with tears on her cheeks as well. The house had been eerily quiet, the girls out with their friends somewhere, the dogs minding their own business. Mindy had come to sit next to him on the couch. "Please, just tell me."

"I don't -" Richard had said, cowardly. He'd seen the first spark of fury in his wife's eyes, and he'd sighed, resigned. "James," he'd said, a broken whisper, and he hadn't recognised his own voice.

He'd been expecting shouting, or Mindy bursting into more tears, but she'd just looked at him with her eyes glazed over, and somehow, it had hurt much more than it would have if she'd hit him across the face.

"I never meant to hurt you," Richard had said, desperately, his hands shaking when he'd tried to reach over and touch Mindy's arm.

" _Don't_ touch me," she'd said, firm but expressionless, and she'd leaned away.

"I'm so sorry," Richard had said, again and again, so many times that it had ceased to sound like actual words.

"God, I didn't think this would happen to _us_ ," she had said. "I can't believe this happened to us."

"I'm sorry," Richard had said, feebly, and watched as his wife had left the room, shaking her head.

*

He doesn’t know how long exactly he sits there, in James' bathtub. The water is too hot, but he lets it run over him. Maybe if he called Jeremy, he could pick him up and he wouldn’t have to talk to James. But then, that would be only putting off the inevitable. Not to mention that Jeremy wouldn’t let him go without Richard having to tell him absolutely everything, and that would be almost as bad as facing James anyway.

He turns off the shower, his skin red from the hot water. Thinking he must be the stupidest man who ever lived, Richard steals James’ towel to dry himself off, tries not to notice how it smells like James, and then gets back into his clothes. When he steps out of the bathroom he feels sheepish. His head is still hammering, and all he wants to do is to take a bit more Nurofen than is strictly recommended and go back to sleep. He can hear James in the kitchen and he braces himself, his brain going through millions of possible worst-case scenarios. What makes everything all the more worse is that he can’t really remember how much he’d managed to upset James. 

Richard almost falls on his arse in surprise, still cowardly hiding in the hallway, when James suddenly shouts out, “Do you want bacon with your eggs, Hammond?”

“Er,” Richard shouts back stupidly. “Yeah?”

He tip toes to the kitchen a few seconds after that. James doesn’t turn to look at him, which is a bad sign, but then he’d asked if he wanted bacon with his eggs - surely that must be a good sign?

“Would you like some toast?” James asks and turns around, pointing at Richard with his spatula. “I can fry it, if you like,” he adds, reaching for the freezer.

“Um, yes, please, thank you,” Richard says and cringes at his own words. He isn't sure he's ever gone all _please and thank you_ on James before. His skin feels too tight on him.

"How are you feeling, Hammond?" James asks, and it's so nonchalant that it's obvious that the question is loaded.

Richard knows he should apologise for all the shit he'd pulled on James last night. _It was so unfair on you, I'm so sorry_ , is what he wants to say. What actually comes out of his mouth is, "I feel like shit. In more ways than one," and it's as close to an apology as he is capable right now.

"Beans?" James asks, and Richard hopes it carries a secret meaning of _It's alright_.

"Er, okay. Thank you, James." He doesn't think he could be any more awkward if he tried.

*

After what had felt like hours, she'd come back to the living room. Richard hadn't dared to move the whole time Mindy had been gone, and he'd been too busy anyway trying to swallow back his tears, trying not to choke on his own spit. He'd never thought he would be this guy. He'd always despised blokes who cheated on their wives, blamed them for not having a hint of a backbone. And now he _was_ that guy, had been _that guy_ for years.

Even after he'd stopped things with James, he'd still been that guy. He'd been looking at James at work, thinking about him in bed with his wife. He hadn't stopped being that guy, and though a year ago when he'd stopped sleeping with James he'd thought he and Mindy could be happy again, him being that guy had meant they couldn't. It'd ruined their marriage. Richard had ruined their marriage, and he hated himself for it.

Mindy had sat down next to him, and they'd spent a long time in silence. Then, carefully, Mindy had asked him when and how and how long and why, and Richard had been as honest as he had ever been, talking in a low, quiet tone, void of emotion.

She'd nodded. "I'm leaving you," she'd whispered, curling her fingers around Richard's wrist. "I - _we_ \- can't."

Richard had nodded. It hadn't surprised him as much as it perhaps ought to have done.

"I still love you," she'd said, tears in her eyes again, "God, you are such a fucking prick, Richard, but I still love you," she'd said, her tears pooling over, her grip around Richard's wrist tightening. "I really hate you, too, just so you know," she'd added, drawing in a long, shaky breath. "But I love you. And if I... if _you_..."

"Mindy, I -"

Shut up, Richard, don't you _dare_ say anything you don't mean to me right now," she'd said quickly, a hint of anger in her voice. "Don't you _dare_."

"I'm sorry," Richard had said once again, though the words hardly meant anything anymore.

"I know that you still love him," Mindy had said, sadly. "I can see it. And that's why we're going to have to take a divorce."

* 

The food is fucking fantastic. 

“This is fucking fantastic,” he tells James, who looks at him with a small, pleased smile; and Richard feels about a million times better. James can’t be too mad at him, surely. The signs are just not there. 

The breakfast also makes him feel less queasy. When he starts to think about it, he can’t recall the last time he ate anyway, he’d been on the drink for hours before having the brilliant idea of coming over to James’ house in order to try and make as much of an arse out of himself as humanly possible. Even his headache eases a little, though after he finishes eating he still rummages in James’ cupboards, trying to find some painkillers.

“They are in the second drawer. On the left,” James says dryly, guessing Richard’s intentions. 

Richard keeps waiting all morning for The Difficult Discussion to take place, but astonishingly enough, it never happens. James doesn’t bring it up at all. He doesn’t seem angry, or particularly upset; in fact he appears to be in a relatively cheerful mood, going on and on and on about his newest motorbike project, until Richard’s headache can’t take it anymore and he has to tell him to shut up, _or_. 

James rolls his eyes but unbelievably, he also shuts up about the bike. Instead, he offers to drive Richard home, and he accepts, because what else is there for him to do? He can’t just not go back there forever, and anyway, when he’d left the house to go to James’, he and Mindy had been in a pretty good place. They had talked before Richard had got out the wine, and they'd agreed to keep living together, because they both were sure they could still be friends, and the house is big enough that they can both have their own rooms and not be in each other’s way constantly - and the most importantly, it is the best option considering the kids. 

That doesn’t mean that Richard is very keen to go back home, though. He is going to have to learn a whole new way of existing there. Although they had said that things would largely remain the same, Richard knows that they won't be largely the same. And Richard isn’t too excited - or ready, even - to find out exactly how much is going to have to change. 

“It’s a fabulous day. Do you think we should take the Ferrari?” James asks him with a lop-sided smile, and Richard has a funny feeling James might be trying to make him feel better. He becomes convinced this is the case when James asks him if he wants to drive. 

Richard wants to, of course, the only fault in the Ferrari being that James owns it and not him. God, it’s fast, and quite aggressive, and it drives beautifully, grips to the road in all the right ways, and the fact that James has bought a car like _this_ makes Richard's stomach fill up with butterflies and his skin prickle.

“Does this give you the fizz?” he asks quietly, trying his best to stifle a grin, pressing his foot hard down on the accelerator. 

“God,” James moans and rolls his eyes. “Don’t start that again. I don't believe you don’t know what I’m talking about, anyway.”

“Oh, I know what you are talking about with that,” Richard assures him in a moment of sudden arrogant courage. “It makes your cock hard, that’s what it’s about.”

The burst of courage fades as soon as it had come, and Richard cringes at his words, not daring to look at James, who has fallen quiet next to him. It’s not that he doesn’t think he is right with his assertion; it’s that in the current situation, considering everything that has happened, letting frogs like that fly out of his mouth seems incredibly poorly judged. James clears his throat awkwardly, the silence between them stretching on. 

“You’re one to talk,” James says eventually, mumbling it under his breath. He isn’t looking at Richard. “Watching some of your car reviews is like watching porn.”

“Is it?” Richard smirks wide, his tone slightly teasing. “For you, maybe. Doubt it’s for any other people. You poor old pervert.”

“Fuck off,” James says, his hands crossed on his chest, but he doesn’t sound too annoyed. "You stupid boy."

The Difficult Moment doesn’t occur until Richard parks the car near his house and steps out. James steps out as well, to take over the driver’s seat. The gravel under Richard's feet rustles when he shifts on his feet on it. He can feel James’ eyes on him.

“Are you going to be okay?” James asks quietly, standing just a bit too close. Reluctantly, Richard lifts his gaze, trying to keep his face level, to not give too much away.

“I’ll be fine,” he says, trying to sound cheerful. James just looks at him steadily, his eyes incredibly blue, and god, all Richard wants is to lean against him and kiss him and forget about everything else.

Instead he turns on his heels, leaving James standing behind him in the sunlight.


	23. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> James does _not_ think about Richard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some say that nothing really happens in this chapter. Consider it as a sort of calm before the storm...

James

James doesn’t talk to Richard much for a couple of months. He supposes Richard and Mindy must have managed to work things out between them, because he hasn’t heard anything from Richard that would suggest otherwise. In fact, when James has called him up, he has seemed happier than in ages, always in mid-play with one or both of his girls. James has decided to stop thinking about it; he is far too old to stress over how much he pines over his colleague, far too old to deal with shit like Richard turning up at his doorstep and throwing himself at James, begging for rebound sex, but never wanting anything more than that. Richard seems happy, with his family, without James. And that’s that. He does not think about him.

Except for when he does, in the dark hours of the night just before falling asleep, and early in the morning in the shower, trying to fight the urge to remember how it’d felt having Richard writhing against him. He thinks about Richard when he’s having lunch, and when he goes out in one of his cars, and when he tries to mend his bike, and when he takes a bath, and when he bakes a pie, and when he watches _I’m A Celebrity... Get Me Out of Here!_ from the telly. The last one honestly doesn't happen often. All the others, unfortunately, do.

To try and really not think about Richard for a change, James goes on a bender with Jeremy, who complains profusely and loudly about being kept out of the loop ("Literally, nobody tells me anything, _ever_!"), and tries to pry what is going on between Richard and James. Apparently Hammond hasn’t been telling him much, and James doesn’t either. He suspects that Jeremy doesn’t even _really_ want to know; he’s just complaining out of boredom and habit more than anything else. 

“Can we talk about something other than that angry, annoying short bloke for a bit?” Jeremy asks with an exasperated sigh, drinking half of his pint in one go. 

“Er,” James protests, looking at his friend under his eyebrows. “I believe it’s you that keeps going on about him and not, in fact, me.”

“You think about him so loudly that I can’t help but hear,” Jeremy counters. Then, “What are your thoughts on the new Bentley?”

Neither of them mentions Hammond for the rest of the night, and that suits both of them just fine.

*

One of the first things they film for the nineteenth series of Top Gear is an epic race to Milan, with Richard and James using public transport - the Eurostar train mainly - and Jeremy in a car. He has opted for a Ford Mustang, which Richard finds hilarious. His good mood is contagious, and although it’s very, very early when they start at 3:37, James finds himself smiling quite a bit already in the bus to Kings Cross St. Pancras.

He enjoys the train trip as well. It’s exciting to monitor how fast they are going, and Richard’s eyes are bright with excitement and he is buzzing with competitive energy, fidgeting in his seat and ruffling his hair every two minutes. From what James knows to be a massive collection but Richard would of course never admit to it, he has taken with him a pair of round sunglasses with blue lenses. He keeps putting them on and then taking them off, peering at James over them, or poking the arm of the specs in his mouth.

It’s all very amusing, and, of course, irritatingly attractive. 

They play a football quiz that the office has provided, and it’s hopeless, because of course, neither of them knows anything about sport, and perhaps least of all about football. But it’s got to do with the day’s theme - the winner of the race will win a ticket to a big game - and it might provide some good footage (though James very much doubts it).

“In 1969, the year I was born,” Hammond says, looking at James over his glasses, “which legend scored what was claimed his 1000th goal?”

“George Best?” James guesses. Obviously, he has no idea.

“Peel,” Richard says with wide eyes.

“Pelé,” James corrects him. “You are a numpty, Hammond, you know that, don’t you?”

Richard looks back at the card. He bursts into laughter, a set of high-pitched giggles, and leans his head down on the table, his shoulders shaking.

“This is hopeless,” he says between giggles. “We can’t play this, let’s not play this.”

James suddenly feels so fond of him it aches. It’s like there is a big bubble trying to burst inside his ribcage somewhere, just from looking at his friend. Richard keeps making helpless laughing noises against the table, and more than anything, James wants to reach out and touch him on the shoulder. The camera is still on them, though, and will be on them for the next approximately billion hours, so he doesn’t. But by god, he wants to, screw the awkwardness that would be bound to follow.

James would quite like to win this race, but of course, even with his secret plan (he has brought a folded bike with him in his bag), he knows his chances are slim at best. Richard is fit, and he will be able to run the distance from the metro station to the bar without difficulty, whereas James is not that fit _and_ it will take him some time to put the bike together. He is not too concerned about not winning the ticket for himself - but he does want to beat Jeremy. He and Richard have never won one of these races, and James wants this to be one that they do win.

Unlike James, Hammond very much wants to win the ticket for himself - no surprises there, then. He’s not too excited about the match as such, but by applying his own peculiar logic he still wants to win the ticket.

“I’ll be honest, I could take it or leave it - I’d rather leave it - but,” he says, holding up his index finger, “in this one instance I want to win more than anything else, because I want to deny you and Jeremy the chance of watching it.” He grins, looking smug. James catches himself wondering if he’d be quite as smug if James yanked him up from his seat by his hair and dragged him to the bathroom and kissed him hard. 

This not thinking about Richard business is turning out to be damn near impossible. 

It soon becomes quite clear that the winner is going to be either James or Richard - Jeremy is miles behind. James ends up taking too much time unfolding his bike from his bag, and Hammond wins by running to the bar. James can’t bring himself to be too upset about it; when he sees how happy Richard is, he can’t help a smile.

“Well done,” he says genuinely.

“You weary? You look a bit tired, mate,” Richard says with a wide smirk, his teeth shining white.

James buys Richard a pint and they sit down to wait for Jeremy. Richard peels off his top shirt. “God, I’m so hot,” he mumbles. “I ran like hell,” he admits, grinning.

“Yeah, I know, I couldn’t catch you on a bike,” James smiles, trying his hardest not to look too affectionate towards Richard - there is a film crew right beside them, after all, and James feels like he has been giving altogether too much away already.

Richard seems to be beside himself with joy, he doesn’t stop laughing at everything and there’s a massive smile plastered on his face. 

“We won, though!” he exclaims and claps James on the shoulder once. “A fucking decade of this show and we finally won one of these things!”

When Jeremy arrives, he doesn’t look too upset by the fact that he's lost, which is unexpected.

“Do you fancy some nice dinner?” James asks Jeremy, largely to keep himself from leering at Richard, who in his current state looks pretty much irresistible to James, who can’t quite believe his fucking hormones or whatever are driving him so mad. He is almost _fifty_ , for fuck’s sake.

Jeremy ignores him. “Where are you?”

“One A,” Richard and James reply in unison. “Which is at the front, isn’t it? I don’t know,” Richard adds, chuckling lightly.

“You are actually playing in goal,” Jeremy says. 

“I think you are actually in the team,” James concurs.

“That is the goal keeper’s position.” Jeremy adds.

“Is it complicated, do I need gloves?” Richard asks, peering down at his ticket. 

After the cameras are all folded away, Jeremy buys them all a beer. They sit in comfortable silence for a while, James trying his hardest not to keep glancing at Richard so much, Jeremy fiddling with his phone, and Richard smiling down at his beer and still holding his treasured ticket in his hand. 

“D’you know,” he says thoughtfully after a while, his eyebrows drawn together. “I won, just so we’re clear on that -”

“Yeah, yeah,” Jeremy dismisses him and doesn’t look up from his phone.

“Hadn’t finished, you pillock,” Richard says irritably. “I won, just so we’re clear on that,” he repeats. “But really, I don’t even know who is playing… Jeremy, if you want to go, the ticket is yours. Consider it a consolation prize or something.”

When Jeremy looks up, his eyes are wide like cherry pies. “REALLY?” he bellows and stands up to throw his hands in the air.

“As long as you remember that I won it,” Richard says, clearly amused, and hands the ticket over. He turns to James. “I could go for a nice dinner,” he says softly, his eyes bright, and James wonders if he just imagines his loaded tone of voice.

“Sure,” James replies, just as softly. “Sounds good.”

Jeremy glances at James’ direction with a cocked eyebrow but for once in his life he opts to not say anything. Instead he sits back down and holds his ticket to his eye level, inspecting it.

“There isn’t anything wrong with this, is there?” he asks jokingly. 

“No, but you are going to be late if you don’t leave soon,” Richard says. “And anyway, you should fuck off because James here is going to take me out.” There’s a devious smirk on Hammond’s face. James imagines his face probably looks a lot like Jeremy’s - mouth hanging wide open and eyebrows raised in shock.

“Right,” Jeremy mumbles. “Alright, I know when I’m not welcome to a place anymore…”

“No, you don’t,” Richard says. James laughs.

Jeremy shrugs. “You’re right, I don’t,” he admits and stands up. “Behave, okay?”

“Fuck off,” Richard laughs, never once shifting his gaze away from James.


	24. Chapter 24

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's a "make it or break it" sort of night.

James

James spends a few moments googling for a nice restaurant within walking distance. 

“God, please, let’s just go and see if we can find _a_ restaurant,” Richard moans beside him, rolling his eyes and fidgeting in his seat restlessly. “It doesn’t have to be a nice one. Just anything with pasta on the menu - that, I’ll have you know, is precisely every restaurant ever - is fine.”

“Hang on,” James says, distracted. He is skimming over a review of a restaurant on TripAdvisor. It seems nice enough, and most people have given it good reviews. “I think I found one," he says. “Now we just need to _find_ it… Hang on…”

Determinedly ignoring Richard’s groans of desperation, James finds the restaurant on Google Maps in a minute or two. It shouldn’t take them more than ten minutes or so to walk there, so they set off, trying to keep a low profile.

“And it’s not a weird one, with weird sushi things or something?” Richard asks, sounding like an eight-year-old.

“It’s not a weird one,” James promises gently. “It seemed quite nice.”

It turns out to be very nice indeed, though the waiter doesn’t really speak English so to place their orders they have to use quite a bit of miming and Richard even throws in some French. Eventually they are rewarded with a nice bottle of red wine. James pours Richard a glass and watches as his lips turn into a crooked smile. 

“I really think you should complete the set and just pull my chair for me one day,” Richard smirks, reaching for his glass. “Go on, do a toast, you like doing those, I know you do.”

“To us,” James says simply, and Richard doesn’t protest, just clinks his glass against James’. 

“This is nice,” Richard says after he’s sipped the wine.

“Yeah,” James agrees, swirling the wine around in his mouth. James would prefer it if it didn't taste so expensive, but he likes it regardless. It's soft and oaky.

“No, I meant… this,” Richard waves a hand in the air between them, “is nice. It’s almost like a date.”

James successfully almost chokes to death on his wine. He coughs for several seconds and Richard just watches him with a cocked eyebrow, looking unimpressed. 

“Is it?” James croaks out as soon as there’s enough air instead of wine in his lungs for him to be able to speak.

“Is it what, James?” Richard asks, the smug little bastard, and James is still coughing but he wants so many unnamed things at that moment he thinks he might split in half. 

“I’m not going to say it again, you piece of shit,” James mumbles. He thinks he might be blushing and he is _almost fifty years old_. For fuck’s sake.

Richard tuts at him, blinking rapidly, and James is thrown back by how long and dark his eyelashes are (again, he is almost fifty years old and this is stupid, but he can’t help it). Richard shakes his head and says gently, in a lowered voice,

“Oh James, with language like that, I don’t know how you expect to get lucky tonight.” He says it nonchalantly, his voice level, sipping on his wine, like it's a completely normal thing to have said.

The waiter picks that exact moment to bring them their food. Richard looks quite pleased with his pasta with mozzarella, and James’ steak looks amazing - but James is busy staring at his friend. He has a lot of questions he wants to air; what about Mindy? Is this a good idea? Does he really mean it or is he just joking around? Is he serious about it or is it just going to be another evening they will never be able to mention in the future? The words for any of the questions never make it out of his mouth, so he stuffs it full of steak and peas instead, feeling Richard’s eyes on him.

“Relax, James,” Richard says after a few beats. “Here, have a bit more wine,” he adds and tops up James’ glass. “You know, I always thought I’d take you out once we won a race on Top Gear… and then we never did.”

James is too preoccupied with absolutely everything to even try and deduct what Richard means. “Better late than never,” he says simply and Richard smiles and agrees. His T-shirt is tight and James can’t help staring at the way it compliments the muscles in his chest. Catching himself staring at Richard’s throat when he swallows, and the way his fingers curl around the bottom of his glass, James averts his gaze, embarrassed. It’s like someone has been inside his brain and flicked a switch, swept away his appetite and made him a mess of testosterone and bordering on juvenile lust.

Stuffing his face with food even though it doesn’t taste like anything to him anymore, James can’t decide if he wants the meal to be over as soon as possible, or if he never wants to leave the restaurant. It feels like tonight is going to be a ‘make it or break it’ kind of night, and James is terrified he is going to break it. He has no idea about what Richard wants - what Richard wants of him. Every bite James takes almost gets stuck in his throat, and he washes the food down with gracious amounts of wine. A moment later he switches to water. If tonight is going to be a difficult night, he would rather not be entirely too drunk to be able to deal with it.

“You’ve gone quiet, mate,” Richard points out softly. His smile has faded and there is an unreadable expression on his face.

“Sorry,” James says quickly and then fails to come up with an excuse as to why he is suddenly quiet when arguably it’s usually near impossible to shut him up, so he doesn’t say anything, just chews his food as quickly as possible.

On the way back to the hotel, Richard walks so fast James has a bit of trouble keeping up with him, even with the advantage of longer legs. He wonders idly if Richard is angry about James being such poor dining company. It seems absurd, but then, James really doesn’t know anything anymore. The days when he could read Richard like an open book are far behind. 

Behind Richard’s hotel room, Richard stops and turns to look at James nervously. “Will you come in for a drink?” he asks softly, even hesitantly, scratching the back of his head. James opens his mouth to reply but doesn’t get a word in before Richard adds, “And it can be just a drink if it’s not… if you don’t…” he shuffles on his feet, looking at the ground, and James thinks he might be blushing.

“Just open the bloody door,” James mumbles impatiently. 

The moment the door closes behind them is the moment James has Richard pinned against the nearest wall, holding him in place by his hips. Richard looks up at him with gorgeous, wide eyes and his lips quiver in anticipation. Wanting to make the moment last just a bit longer, James runs his hands up Richard’s sides, over his chest, curling a hand around his neck possessively. 

“God, just -” Richard starts but James cuts him off by kissing him on the lips. It’s like Richard’s hit by a lightning, his whole body jumps and he instantly slides one hand under James’ shirt and tugs at James’ belt loop with the other. The kiss is deep and James fights over the control of it. He bites down on Richard’s bottom lip harder than he means to, but Richard just lets out a loud moan and unbuttons James’ jeans, slipping a hand inside his pants and wrapping his fingers around James’ length.

“Bed,” James croaks out, because they have done this half-arsed standing up too many times. He helps Richard pull his shirt over his shoulders - and god, he is gorgeous: just trim muscle and smooth skin everywhere. James kicks his jeans off, takes off his own shirt, and pulls Richard with him on the bed. Richard lands half on top of him and he laughs breathlessly, the sound doing inexplicable things to James’ insides. 

“Get those jeans off,” James demands, sliding his hands over Richard’s arse and squeezing it. Richard groans and gets on his knees, and fuck, seeing him unbutton his jeans and take off his pants to reveal a hard cock, in James’ direct eyesight, is one of the hottest things James has ever seen. He wraps his hand loosely around his own cock, and sees Richard mirror him by doing the same to himself, still hovering above James on his knees while James lies on his back, and just, _fuck_.

“Touch yourself, let me see,” James says and bites down on his lip. Richard does as he’s told, moving his thumb over the head of his dick and smearing his pre-come over his shaft. His cheeks are flushed and he keeps squeezing his eyes shut as if watching James watching him is too much for him. “Come here,” James says, unable to take it anymore, wanting to get his hands on Richard.

Richard leans down to kiss him, softly for a change, sliding his hand down James’ stomach. He wraps his hand around James’ cock at the same time James does the same to him, and both men draw in a sharp breath. 

“I’ve missed this so much,” Richard breathes and kisses James’ jaw. “I’ve missed _you_ , oh my god. Faster.”

James picks up the speed, jerking Richard off to the best of his ability, even though the position is a bit unnatural. Eventually, they fall into a weird pace, mirroring each other’s changes in rhythm. Richard is breathing into his neck hotly, his face hidden, and he’s making the most desperate sounding little noises James has ever heard. Then, unexpectedly, Richard bites down on James' neck, and the shivers of pleasure that sends down James’ spine completely surprise him and he comes suddenly and hard, seeing stars and struggling for breath.

Richard follows him moments later, and James holds him through the aftershocks, kissing his shoulder and whispering sweet nothings in his ear. After a while, Richard flops down on top of him with full weight and kisses James on the mouth slowly, as though he never wants to get up. James wipes his hand in Richard’s pants, and then buries it in Richard's hair, stroking his scalp and kissing him back tenderly, keeping his eyes closed. 

“We should probably shower,” Richard says quietly after a moment. He sounds sleepy.

James has his arms around Richard’s waist and he’s holding him close, and he never wants to move. “Yeah, I guess. Do you want to go first?” he asks reluctantly.

“Not really,” Richard sighs and lays his head down on James’ chest, his hair tickling James’ jaw. “Maybe we should go together?” It sounds like a question.

“Really?” James asks, unsure about what the suggestion actually entails. Richard just nods and gets up, waiting for James to follow him. James tries not to gape at him, but it’s hard - Richard's hair is messed up and when he stretches, his muscles flex invitingly. Feeling awkward and stupid, James tries to get his limbs to work, following Richard to the shower. It’s not that he’s particularly insecure, but he is not used to a situation like this, and while Richard stands next to him looking absolutely pitch-perfect, it’s hard not to over-analyse his own faults and failings. 

“Stop thinking so loud,” Richard snaps, “you’ll impair my hearing.” He pushes the shower on and pulls James close to him.

It’s ridiculous; the shower isn’t wide enough and the water falls mostly between them, and it’s a bit too cold and Richard keeps squeaking against James, and James laughs so hard he starts to fear drowning.

“This is not going to work,” he says between bouts of laughter, holding Richard by the biceps. The shorter man just looks at him with determined eyes and pulls James in for a kiss under the stream of water. It doesn’t work; James has to pull right back for air because the water gets in his nose and he can’t breathe. He splutters for a second and Richard looks at him, unimpressed, his hands on his hips.

“You’re fucking hopeless,” he states and reaches for the shampoo. 

“This was a bloody stupid idea,” James counters, too amused to be offended.

“Wasn’t,” Richard says stubbornly, shampooing his hair quickly.

“Wasn’t it?” James says and after a moment of hesitation, reaches to wash Richard’s hair. He is a bit surprised when Richard doesn’t punch him in the face but lets him, without saying a word, just letting his own hands fall to his sides, closing his eyes. He hums under his breath.

“T’was a brilliant idea,” he mumbles after a while, with a little smile in the corners of his lips. James could watch him forever.

Afterwards they lie on the bed, close to each other, but not quite touching, sharing miniature bottles of whiskey from the minibar. Richard is telling him about one of his childhood car journeys, his eyes closed, waving his hands in the air in front of him. James takes a sip from the bottle, the liquid burning its way down his throat. In that moment, he doesn’t feel almost fifty - he feels young and relaxed and ready for anything. Richard rests his arm on James’ stomach, and with a twinge to his insides, James realises that he never wants this moment to end.

He doesn’t know when he’ll have Richard with him like this again, every wall down between them. He can’t even be sure if it will ever happen again. As far as James knows, this might be the last time it - this - ever happens. Out in the real world, outside the little bubble they have built here tonight, Richard has a wife and two kids and James fits nowhere in that picture. The thought hits him like a truck, and for a moment it’s hard to breathe. He curls his fingers around Richard’s wrist, stroking the younger man’s pulse point with his thumb, overwhelmed with unwelcome emotion all of a sudden.

Richard moves a bit closer to him, his shoulder brushing against James’. 

“You’ve stopped laughing at the right points,” he points out softly, looking at James through his lashes. “What are you thinking?”

“Just that I wish we didn’t have to leave here,” James blurts out without thinking. It doesn’t sound too desperate or pathetic in his head, but when he says the words out loud, his tone makes them sound incredibly sad. He lets out a little laugh to try and conceal how bleak he suddenly feels, but it comes out joyless as well. “I’ve just had a nice time here, with you,” he says, and wonders when exactly it was that he turned thirteen.

Richard watches him with a worried sort of frown, and James has never felt so stupid. They’ve been having such a nice night, intimate in its own right even discounting the sex, and now he’s gone and ruined it with some childish idiocy. 

“It doesn’t matter,” he mumbles, decidedly not meeting Richard’s gaze. 

“It does,” Richard says strongly, sitting up, and yeah, James has really ruined it. He squeezes his eyes shut and wishes he could turn back time. Just a few minutes would do. “I thought this time would be different,” Richard says, and now he sounds sad too, and James doesn’t know what the hell he is talking about, and everything has turned to shit. Again.

“What do you mean?” James asks quietly, sitting up as well. Richard has his back turned to him, and James wants to reach out and touch him, but he is too afraid to do so.

“I thought this time we wouldn’t go back to the fucking will we won’t we thing.” Richard says, leans his face in his hands. He doesn’t sound angry, just tired and disappointed and sad, but James still doesn’t understand what he is trying to say. 

“But how would that work?” James asks quietly. They had an on-going affair once, after all, a couple of years ago, and it ended in misery and awkwardness, and James doesn’t see how it could be any better this time around. It doesn’t matter that both of them want it. It would just make them suffer, more than staying away from each other will. Not to mention that James is far too old to be a lover on the side, he deserves better and he knows that. And Richard is far too honest of a man to continuously and consciously cheat on his wife; he would never be able to be happy, it would tear him up inside, and James doesn’t want that on his conscience.

But Richard doesn’t seem to be thinking along the same lines. He stands up abruptly and walks to the window, staring outside to the points of light in the darkness. “I don’t know, James,” he says, and now he does sound angry, and James’ belly drops somewhere below his knees. “Why the fuck are we here, anyway? What the fuck are we doing if this is always going to be it? Tell me, ‘cause I’d love to fucking understand your fucking thought process.”

James blinks. For a moment he's too stunned to find words. Whatever he might have been expecting, Richard turning this on _him_ hadn't been it. He lets out a sort of incredulous cough from the back of his throat. Of course, what he wants to say is that Richard shouldn’t put this on James since it is him with the _wife_ , but what comes out of his mouth after a few beats is a very confused, “I don’t know.”

“Wow,” Richard says and raises his eyebrows, his face twisted in anger. “Wow. Fuck you, James. Fuck _this_. I can't believe you'd - no. Fuck this.”

“What? Fuck _you_ ,” James snaps back. "You are the one who keeps doing this. You are the one who constantly turns things to shit. You can't pin this on me, Hammond." James' heart is beating fast in his chest and he can't quite face Richard. He's almost too worked up to speak. "You can't turn up at my doorstep drunk out of your mind," James pauses for a moment, realising that he's about to get sidetracked. Then he decides that he really, really doesn't care. "You can't just come to me and expect me to just put up with your every idiotic whim, you fucking fuckwit."

"Don't put this on me," Richard says slowly, dangerously low. "Don't you dare put all of this on me when it's you that's saying no, now that - now that I thought we would finally --" he draws in a deep, shuddering breath, and whatever he'd meant to say James never finds out, because the next thing he says is a spiteful, "Fuck you, James," from the low of his throat.

James watches as Richard takes his things and leaves the room, banging the door shut behind himself.

James is distantly angry, but most of all he's tired of it all. 

Most of all, it fucking hurts.


	25. Chapter 25

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Richard and James fail at communication, and Jeremy tries to help.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again for sticking with this story! So close to the end, now!

Richard

The next morning, the atmosphere at breakfast is chilly. 

Jeremy sits down opposite Richard, glancing at James at the far end of the table, deep in a meaningless discussion about something idiotic no doubt, and says, “I told you two to behave. And what did you do, exactly?”

“Fuck the fuck off,” Richard snaps, really not in the mood for any of that shit. “Eat your fucking food and leave me alone.” He considers this for a moment, looks at Jeremy’s not strictly offended but somewhat disheartened face, and sighs. “Or talk about something else. Please.”

Jeremy shows uncharacteristic sympathy and starts telling him about the match. Apparently it has been amazing and Richard should never have given Jeremy the ticket, which is as much as Richard knows already. Even a shit game of football would have been better than what had happened late last night. Not really interested in who scored and when and for whom, Richard bites into his toast. It tastes burnt, and the coffee is disgusting. Letting his hands fall on the table, Richard decides he is not really that hungry in the first place. He gets his phone out of his pocket and goes on Twitter.

“Why are you not eating?” Jeremy asks. It’s a running gag, but Richard’s not in the mood for that either, so he just glares at Jeremy, then goes back to fiddling with his phone. “Right,” Jeremy says. “You two are going to give me an aneurysm, I swear to fucking god.”

“You’ve given half the nation an aneurysm,” Richard mutters, but that just makes Jeremy laugh. His laughter summons the tiniest of smiles to Richard’s face as well. After all, there is no point in being mad at Jeremy. He would rather still have at least one best friend when back in the UK than none at all.

On the plane, James sits quite near Richard, but Richard ignores him completely, poking his reading glasses on his nose and opening a book, turning the pages every once in a while. In truth, he can’t really focus on reading; he feels too on edge to take in the words in front of him. Instead, he listens to James and Jeremy chat about some TV programme Richard hasn’t seen, anger bubbling inside of his veins. The fact that James sounds completely normal and not at all disturbed - like Richard feels - infuriates him further, even though it’s completely stupid.

What he really wants to do is to stand up and shout and stomp on his feet and demand James for some answers, but as that is out of the question, he settles for stealing glances his way and hating himself for not being able to control his thoughts. James is explaining something to Jeremy eloquently, using his hands to help his points, and despite his anger Richard remembers how good James’ hands had felt on him last night. He forces his gaze back to the book, and turns the page, wanting to cry.

In his car, on his way to Wales, he finally manages to calm down a little. Still, his thoughts keep coming back to James, no matter how much he tries to think of something else. Richard doesn’t understand him, _at all_ \- now that Richard is no longer together with Mindy, he had hoped James might like to give them a proper go, at long last. Apparently, he figures sullenly, he had been wrong. Apparently, for James, all they can ever be is an occasional shameful encounter.

Richard presses his foot down on the accelerator, and the car leaps forwards. Driving usually cheers him up, but now even that has very little effect on his mood. He feels like he has bared his soul and for nothing; for James to step on it and say that he doesn't care about him, not really. Apparently, he'd just wanted to get laid. 

Richard stops the car at the next lay-by, trembling in his seat, back to being too worked up to even be able to drive safely. He leans his head against the steering wheel, the lump in his throat getting threateningly big. The lay-by reminds him of the time he took James out for a drive to apologise to him after he'd kissed him in Norway. Richard tries to swallow the lump in his throat down, but it’s to no avail. His eyes fill up with tears and he ends up sobbing in his hands on the side of the road, just hoping to fucking god that no paparazzi or overly eager fan with a camera happens to spot him while he is at it.

Eventually, he gets home. The girls are excited to see him, and he’s excited to see them, and they make him feel a lot better. He sits down to watch some trash telly with them and Mindy, and it’s nice, and when Jeremy calls him in the middle of _The X Factor_ , Richard just turns off his phone and doesn’t pick up. It’s bad enough that he will have to face the Top Gear lot in a couple of weeks' time. Right now he just wants to take some time for himself. Prioritise what is really important.

When he goes to bed, however, his frustration and sadness hit him again with full force, and it proves impossible for him to catch sleep. He rolls around in bed, feeling both too hot and too cold, getting under his blanket and throwing his blanket on the floor, opening the window and then promptly closing it again. Every time he glances at the clock, an hour has passed. The more time passes the more anxious he gets, afraid that he will not manage an ounce of sleep all night. At three am, he sits up in his bed and leans his head down to his knees in desperation.

Eventually, he can’t take it anymore and steps out of bed, slips into his jeans and a T-shirt, grabs his keys, and tip-toes down the stairs and out the door, planning to go say hello the horses. The animals always manage to cheer him up. He talks to them quietly, nonsensical flow of mind, but it’s therapeutic. One of the horses looks at him as though he’s lost his mind, and it makes Richard laugh. Maybe he has gone a little bit mad. He scratches her behind her ear and tells her that he is just having a little trouble sleeping, not to worry. She, predictably enough, doesn’t have an answer for him.

He wishes he could just forget about James and move forward with his life, but he knows it is not going to be an easy task. He loves James, and maybe he always has, and he thinks he might always do - even though he's completely terrified of the word "love", and even though James is a completely unreasonable, unpredictable, and insufferable fucking git. Richard lights a cigarette. He's quit, sort of, for the umpteenth time, and the first couple of drags make him cough slightly. 

Walking back towards the house, he sees Mindy sitting on the porch in her nightie, her hands crossed across her chest. Her hair is disheveled, and she looks tired.

“Hey,” she says softly as Richard approaches.

“Hey,” Richard replies, feeling guilty. “I woke you, didn’t I?”

“One of the dogs started to howl after you,” Mindy says and offers a small smile. Richard sits down next to her.

“I’m sorry,” he says quietly, but Mindy just shakes her head and tells him it’s okay. They are both quiet for a little while, and Richard knows she is waiting for him to speak. She has been using this tactic on him for years, and it has always worked; but then, before now, before _James_ , he has never had anything on his mind that he couldn’t have shared with her. With this, he isn’t so certain. Although she knows about James now - not any details, but the broad picture - it feels like an inappropriate subject matter with your soon to be ex-wife.

“Go on, Rich,” she sighs. “Do you really think I can’t figure out it’s about him? Just tell me. We’ll talk and worry about whether or not I’m okay some other time.” 

Richard looks at her, and she is looking expectant, and Richard cares about her more than he could ever communicate.

“He doesn't care,” he says simply, and it is much easier to say than he would have imagined. “I mean, he said we are never going to be anything more than what we are now,” Richard says, looking at the ground, trying very hard not to burst out crying or something equally embarrassing. “So if he cares, he doesn’t care enough.”

“Did he really say that? In those words?” Mindy asks. She looks sorry for him, which is a definite red alert. The lump in Richard’s throat gets bigger, as he tries to explain that while James hadn’t really said that in so many words, it had still been what he had meant.

“Richard,” Mindy cuts him off mid-sentence. “Did you actually tell him how you feel?”

Richard swallows. She’s not getting the point. “Well, not as such, but -”

“I think you should talk to him,” Mindy says determinedly. “Maybe you two just got your wires crossed somewhere along the line.”

She sounds so sure of herself that Richard doesn’t have the heart to argue. Instead he just nods and mumbles out a non-committal agreement, but he doesn’t think there is much chance that she is right.

"So," he says awkwardly, uncomfortable in his skin. "Are you alright?"

"Not really," she says and sighs. There's a little, sad smile on the corner of her mouth. "Not really," she repeats, "and I don't think we can go on living together for forever. We have to move on, eventually, hard as it is."

"Eventually," Richard agrees and doesn't quite manage a smile.

*

Richard spends the next day with the kids. He doesn’t even bother to turn his phone on, because there isn’t anyone in the world he would like to talk to other than them and Mindy, not today. The idea of sorting out paper work or talking to his accountant or his parents or, god forbid, to Jeremy, makes his insides twist. This is his day off, and he intends to spend it one hundred per cent stress free, thank you very much.

He takes the girls for a drive in the Land Rover, and although neither of them is very little anymore, they both still love it, finding the car and the drive thrilling and wondrous, and it’s easy to get sucked in their excitement. By the end of the day, when he lays his head down on a pillow, he falls asleep immediately, the active day and the sleepless night before that making him sleep like a log.

The next evening, while he's sullenly staring down to his cup of tea, Mindy touches his shoulder lightly.

“You haven’t talked to him, have you?” she asks carefully. She sounds sympathetic, and it almost makes Richard cry. What has he done to deserve her sympathy? Absolutely nothing, and yet, here she is, offering it to him. It’s almost too much for him to handle.

Richard admits that he hasn’t. He still hasn’t even bothered to turn his phone on. If Jeremy has phoned him while it’s been off, there will be hell to pay, he just knows that, and he isn’t too keen to find out how bad it is going to be.

“God, Richard, grow some fucking balls,” she says and Richard flinches - he hadn’t expected that. “Just talk to him, give him a chance to explain. Explain yourself while you're at it.”

And so, Richard finds himself on his bed, turning his phone back on. It starts to buzz immediately to alert him of missed calls (sixteen) and messages (eight). He sighs and takes a look at the logs. Jeremy has called him eleven times - no surprises there, then. The other five calls are from Andy (three missed calls, damn it, Richard is going to be in trouble for that) and his brother and his mum (Richard is probably going to be in trouble for that, too).

Out of the eight messages, one is from Andy and the rest are all from Jeremy (no surprises there, then). He opens the one from Andy, first.

 **14:22 Sep 28** _Call me back as soon as possible. We need to reschedule a thing or two. -Andy_

It’s not as bad as he’d been expecting, and Richard allows himself to be amused for a moment by the way Andy always signs his text messages like an old man. Then he forces himself to move onto the messages from Jeremy, starting from the oldest one.

 **15:17 Sep 28** _Pick up your damn phone you idiot, I called you last night_

 **18:34 Sep 28** _Is your phone off. Who turns off their phone?? Who does that?? Call me_

 **22:45 Sep 28** _it’s important you fucking piece of shit. CALL ME_

 **09:01 Sep 29** _My hammer. Every bone in your body._

 **19:23 Sep 29** _I swear to fucking god if you are dead in a ditch somewhere I will fucking end you_

 **19:38 Sep 29** _May doesn’t know you broke up with Mindy. Thought you should know, though you don’t deserve to, since you are the biggest fucking idiot I've ever met, and I've met Piers Morgan. How could you not have told him THAT?? I didn’t tell him, thought you should._

 **20:20 Sep 29** _I’m honestly starting to get worried about you, Hammond. If you don’t call me before tomorrow, I’m coming over, and then you’d better be dead in a ditch somewhere._

Richard doesn’t think he has ever called anyone faster than he calls Jeremy, his mind whirling. Surely Jeremy must be mistaken somehow? After all, James had been the first person Richard had told. 

“I hate you so much,” Jeremy says as he picks up the phone. “You fucking fucker, honestly. I thought you were dead. For fuck’s sake, man.”

“Why would you say that James doesn’t know me and Mindy are no longer together?” Richard asks. His heart is beating fast in his chest. If there’s a chance that James really, honestly doesn’t know… Well, then that would change everything. It would explain his reluctance to pursue a relationship between himself and Richard. 

Jeremy sighs. “Yes, that’s information you could have extracted from me two days ago, if you’d just picked up your goddamn phone like a normal person.”

Richard squeezes his eyes shut angrily, drawing in a deep, calming breath. There is no room for him to lose his patience with Jeremy now; knowing Jeremy, he'll hold out this from Richard until the end of time if he snaps at him. So, in the politest of tones, Richard says, “Jeremy. Please tell me what he said. Precisely. Word for word.”

“First I just want to let you know that you are the biggest bloody moron on the face of the planet,” Jeremy says cheerfully. “But yeah, I went to the pub with him, and after buying him pretty much all the alcohol in the damn place, and after I’d very skillfully steered him on to the right topic of conversation -”

“Yes, yes, get to the point,” Richard says impatiently. The suspense is killing him. 

“ - He said that he was hurt because you’d only consider him to be something on the side,” Jeremy finishes.

Richard isn’t convinced, because that could mean so many things. “But that could mean anything!” Richard squeaks. “Did he actually say anything specific? Word for word, Jez.”

“In decades of making television, I’ve never been able to remember a script word for word,” Jeremy says. “And I was fairly shitfaced. But that was the gist of it, it was pretty clear. Guess what, maybe you should actually be talking to him instead of whining to me?”

“But what if you are wrong and he meant something else?” Richard asks meekly. He had hoped Jeremy would be able to give him something concrete; some solid proof that James thought Richard and Mindy were still together. His stomach is turning. “I told him, you know,” he says, his voice weak. “He was the first person I told about it. And believe me, I didn’t make the occasion easy to forget. You must have misunderstood him.” He rubs a hand over his face, feeling weary and exhausted by everything. He suddenly wishes he had kept his phone turned off.

“I didn’t misunderstand anything,” Jeremy says, sounding impatient and overly confident as usual. “And really, when am I ever wrong?” he laughs at his own joke, but Richard fails to find it funny. For the first time in what is very possibly ever, Richard vehemently, desperately hopes that Jeremy is right. Unfortunately, he doesn’t understand how he could be.

“God, Hammond, you are pathetic,” Jeremy tells him after a while, and it’s all too easy to agree with him on that. “Just call him, talk to him. It will be fine.”

“I’m not sure he’ll want to talk to me,” Richard admits quietly. 

“Make him,” Jeremy says strongly. “Just make him. Oh, and also, when I’m proven right, I expect a really freakishly expensive bottle of Scotch as a present. For sorting out your stupid mess.”


	26. Chapter 26

James

When James sprints downstairs to open the door at half ten, expecting Sarah, and finding Richard standing outside, it’s like a bad joke. They have been here too many times, and it’s never been right, and frankly, he doesn’t know why he would want to talk to Richard now.

“Go home, Hammond,” he says. “I’ll see you at work,” he adds, shutting the door behind himself, fuming with anger and frustration.

He goes to sit on the couch, vehemently ignoring the doorbell and the knocks on the door and Richard’s muffled pleading to let him in. James swallows, but really, he has no intention of letting Richard in. He needs time for himself, to sort out his thoughts, and Richard will just talk to him until his head spins. James knows that before long, he will give in, and then he and Richard will be back to square one, for what must be the hundredth time. 

After a while, the knocking stops, and James supposes Richard must have given up. The realisation that Richard has left comes with a sense of relief, but James also feels distinctly disappointed… and then he feels stupid. He isn’t a fucking teenager anymore, and he should start to behave like it.

His phone rings on the table and James almost doesn’t reach for it, convinced it is going to be Richard. Eventually, he takes a look at the screen, a tiny bit of him actually hoping it is Hammond, that he hasn’t given up on him so soon after all, that he is trying to fight for him. And there it is again, the feeling of disappointment, when the screen flashes bright with the name “Jeremy Clarkson” illuminated on it.

James picks up. Jeremy is going to be as good a distraction as any while James tries to get Richard out of his head.

“Hello,” James says, trying to sound normal, and not like his world is shaking.

“Hammond says that you should open the door for him, because otherwise he’ll simply wait behind your door until you come out. Goodbye.” Jeremy hangs up before James has the time to understand what he has said, let alone reply to him.

James goes upstairs to take a peek through the window, and sure enough, there is a man sitting behind James' front door, his knees drawn to his chest, hugging his legs. Richard looks small, and expressionless, but James can see that he's tapping the side of his thigh with his fingers restlessly, and figures things must be happening under the surface.

For a moment, James doesn't know what to do with himself. He's not usually a very stubborn man, always keen to compromise if a situation calls for it, but this time... this time it's different. And, if he's honest, James is a tiny bit curious about how long Richard will actually stay after he realises James really isn't going to answer the door for him. So, James walks back downstairs, puts the kettle on, and sits down in the armchair. He doesn't think about Richard, tries to do a crossword instead, but it requires too much concentration. So, James puts his pen down, doesn't think about Richard sitting outside, instead turning the telly on and surfing the channels. There's a comedy panel show on almost every one of them, except on Dave, where Jeremy is reviewing a BMW. Bemused, James watches the rerun of Top Gear for a few minutes, until "It's time for the news!" and looking at Richard's face proves too much for him.

He shuts the television. The situation he's found himself in suddenly feels so absurd James lets out a tiny, panicked chuckle. He gets on his feet, figuring that it’s someone’s job to be the sensible one, and walks to open the door. After all, he can’t hide from Richard forever. And, if he’s honest, after how pissed off Richard had been with him in Milan, maybe he should be grateful that he even wants to have something to do with James (that is, of course, if he hasn’t come around to punch James in the face).

He opens the door slowly and steps outside, tip-toeing next to Richard, who clearly hasn’t heard him opening the door, because he hasn’t moved.

“Hey,” he says quietly, sitting down with his legs crossed in front of him, suddenly aware of his bare feet. It’s a warm night for late September, so it’s not a huge problem, but it makes him feel just a little bit self-conscious.

“Hi,” Richard says, just as quietly. “And thank you. I know you have a lot of reasons to not want to see me.”

James watches him steadily for a moment, trying to figure Richard out. It’s not easy, because he has no idea why Richard is even here. “Would have thought you wouldn’t want to see _me_ ,” he says eventually, tentatively.

Richard draws in a breath, seemingly nervous, like he is about to say something important. But what comes out of his mouth is a simple, “D’you want a fag?” 

James shrugs, but reaches out a hand to accept one of Richard’s Marlboro’s anyway. Richard’s hand shakes when he tries to light James’ cigarette for him.

“I didn’t,” Richard says after a minute.

“What?” James asks, blowing out smoke through is mouth slowly, not sure what Richard is talking about.

“I didn’t really want to talk to you,” Richard says, swallowing. He avoids James’ gaze, looking at the cigarette resting between his fingers instead. “But then I talked to Jeremy and -”

“Oh. Brilliant, thanks for that, Richard.” He sighs, knowing he's being unfair, James has talked to Jeremy himself; but James can't help it. 

“Just let me finish, please,” Richard says, looking desperate, and James wants to reach out and touch him. "It wasn't like that, I -"

"I know," James says quickly. "It's okay. Go on." 

Richard looks at him for a long moment. He's barely blinking. Then he says, "He had something important to tell me. He told me that you didn’t know that Mindy and I are no longer together. Is that - is that true?” He falls silent, turns his gaze away. 

And…

Wait a second?

...What was that, exactly?

It takes James entirely too long to reply. His mouth has gone dry, his cigarette forgotten in his hand. Several beats too late, after he’s regained the control of his tongue, he splutters out a shocked, “What? What did you just -?”

“Mindy and I are getting a divorce. We ended things before I came to your house that night,” Richard says slowly, his eyes wide. “James… Did you really not realise that we were really over?”

“I thought -” James chokes out. His mind has gone blank and he has forgot how to speak. “But I assumed -”

“But I told you,” Richard says. “I told you.”

“But you live with -”

“For the time being. We are sorting things out, and we thought it'd be best for the kids, to let them adjust for a bit.” Richard is quiet for a moment. "It was never going to be an ugly break up between me and her, we still care about each other a lot."

James shakes his head. It’s too much information all at once, and he doesn’t know how to begin to process it. Feeling surreal, and like it all is just probably a big, sick joke of some kind, or a ploy of someone’s, he gets on his feet and walks back inside his house. He paces a bit around the living room, ignoring Richard standing in the corner with his hands crossed across his chest, looking helpless.

“James,” he says softly, but James hardly hears it.

If what Richard’s telling him is true, it changes everything - it means that what he said in Milan didn’t mean that he wanted to see James as a secret lover on the side… it meant something else, something that James has never let himself even consider. There is just one thing that doesn’t make sense.

“Why did you get so angry at me in Milan?” he asks and stops on his feet, looking up at Richard. 

Richard bites his lower lip. “I thought you only wanted me for sex,” he says, shifting on his feet anxiously. “I thought you were saying we could never be anything more than what we were.”

“I was saying that,” James tells him, and Richard flinches violently. “No, wait,” he adds quickly, holding out a hand, “I said that thinking that you wanted _me_ just for sex.”

Richard takes an uncertain step closer to him, and James has never seen him as serious. “And what are you saying now? That you know?”

“I’m saying that we are both fucking idiots,” James breathes. His head is spinning. “Are you - are you sure about this?”

“Yes,” Richard says firmly and takes another step closer to James. "Completely."

“Why didn’t you tell me?” James asks. “I thought you and Mindy must have settled things, you never mentioned anything.”

“Literally everyone knows about it, James, literally everyone,” Richard says, and there is a hint of a smile playing around his eyes as he takes a step closer, now very close to James’ personal space. “I didn’t think I had to spell it out. You know. For a second time,” Richard says and grins. “And anyway, I thought there was a chance you didn’t want me anymore, what with you rejecting me that night and everything,” he says, getting more serious again, stepping in James’ personal space. 

Drawing in a quick breath, James shakes his head. “You were a mess, that night,” he says lowly, distracted by Richard’s closeness.

“I know,” Richard says gently, nodding. He reaches out to grab the front of James’ shirt, pushing his body against James’. “I’m genuinely so sorry about that, it never should have happened. I'm so sorry about that and about everything.”

James is fixated by the workings of Richard’s Adam’s apple as he swallows. “Are we really going to do this? You and me, no messing about?” he asks hesitantly, still partly fearful that Richard will say no.

But he doesn’t say no, instead he pulls James’ head down and kisses him, uncharacteristically slow and sweet, but familiar. It’s good, and James wraps his arms around Richard, holding him close to him, moving his hands up and down his back and his sides. They kiss until James feels like he might pass out from lack of air, and even then he pulls back just for a moment, before attacking Richard’s lips with his own. He can’t quite bring himself to believe that this is actually happening.

"I want this," Richard mumbles as they break apart for breath again. "You and me."

"Cheesy," James comments, grinning and trailing his hands down Richard's arse.

"I don't care if it is," Richard says, breathing it into James' neck, "I mean it. I want this. I want _you_. Oh my god, James, _please_ ," Richard's voice turns into a whimper as James' fingers dig into his sides possessively.

“What?” James asks between kisses, knowing he will grant Richard anything he wants. He licks a stripe up Richard’s neck and leans in to place a gentle bite on Richard’s ear lobe. “Remember when you did that?” he whispers to Richard’s ear and is pleased when Richard shivers, breathing heavily.

“Please, I want you,” Richard gasps. His erection is pressing against James’ thigh through his jeans, and it’s an exhilarating feeling. “Fuck, James, please. I want you to fuck me.”

Hearing the words does things to James’ insides. “Upstairs,” he says shortly, pulling Richard’s T-shirt over his head. Richard’s skin is hot under his touch and he leans down to kiss his nipple, looping his fingers around Richard’s belt. Richard moans above him and buries his hands in James’ hair, pushing him down on his knees. 

“Let me fuck your mouth,” Richard mumbles lowly, and when James looks up at him, trying to open Richard’s belt, his cheeks are flushed and his eyelashes flutter as he looks James in the eye. He looks incredibly sexy and slightly out of control. 

Pulling Richard’s jeans down slowly, James touches the backs of Richard’s thighs, holding him close. 

“Just…” Richard growls above him. “Do something. Stop with the pre-flight checks.”

James rolls his eyes and pulls Richard’s pants down, freeing his cock. There’s a spot of pre-come already at the tip of his dick, and James touches it with his thumb before curling his fingers around the base of his length and taking the tip of him in his mouth, careful not to graze the sensitive skin with his teeth. He licks his tongue around Richard, tasting him, savouring the moment and enjoying the low, desperate sounds Richard keeps making.

“Fuck, so good,” Richard moans, twisting his hand in James’ hair as James takes him deeper into his mouth, sucking him with as much skill as he can manage. He pulls away and licks his lips, looking up at Richard, who is looking back at James with piercing eyes, his face full of silent awe. After giving Richard’s dick a couple of lazy tugs, James gets back on his feet and kisses Richard on the mouth hungrily. Richard tears at his shirt and pulls away from the kiss after a moment.

“Take this off,” he demands. “It’s not fair that I’m standing here naked while you have all your clothes on,” he complains, unbuttoning James’ shirt with his tongue between his lips.

James laughs and helps Richard take off his shirt, then he pulls Richard back against him and kisses him, biting down on his lower lip, pleased with the gasp Richard lets out at that. “Let’s go upstairs,” he says lowly, his hands around Richard’s biceps. God, he is so fit: all muscle and nothing extra anywhere, and it’s beyond baffling that even as James speaks, Richard’s working on trying to get James’ jeans off - really, what has James to offer Richard? Richard, who is gorgeous, and well-built, and -

“Oh god,” he lets out as Richard manages to shove a hand down his pants and wrap his hand around James’ cock, smirking deviously. 

“So hard already,” Richard says under his breath, speaking near James’ neck, his words hot against James’ skin. “And I’ve hardly touched you.”

“Upstairs,” James says with a tone that hopefully leaves no room for arguments. He grabs Richard by the bicep and half-drags him after himself up the stairs. He kicks his jeans off and hears Richard laughing behind him.

“Impressive,” Richard says, in a slightly mocking tone. “Just do me a favour and don't trip over, James."

“Shut up,” James says and all but runs to the bedroom. "Come the fuck over," he adds as he lies down on the bed and Richard climbs on top of him, pulling down James’ pants and then straddling his hips, rubbing their cocks together, and it shouldn’t be as hot as it is. Richard is grabbing James’ thigh so hard it might bruise. Then he leans down to kiss James' neck, pinches James' nipple.

“I want you,” he says again, his voice almost feverish. “James, I want you to fuck me.”

And there they are, the thrilling words that James doesn’t quite know what to do with. God, he doesn’t want anything more than to be inside of Richard right now, but he has never done it before, and he thinks - guesses - Richard hasn’t either, and it could prove to be trickier than either of them would expect. 

“Really?” he asks quietly, studying Richard’s willing face.

Richard wraps his hand around both of their erections and moans. “Yes, _yes_. Please, James, I want you inside me.”

Hesitantly, his heart beating fast in his chest, James raises a finger on Richard’s lips. He almost chokes on his tongue as Richard sucks his index finger into his mouth readily, closing his eyes and twirling his tongue around it. James pulls his hand away, and reaches down between Richard’s legs with his slick finger, rubbing the back of Richard’s thigh with his other hand. He presses his finger carefully against Richard’s hole, stroking the delicate skin there. 

“We need lube,” James says, matter-of-factly. “Let me go and see if I have any.”

“It’ll be fine,” Richard mumbles, predictably reckless, squeezing the base of his own dick.

“It won’t,” James says. This isn’t a point he’s willing to budge on; he knows that if they proceed without lubricant, Richard will end up hurting himself and James will not have that. “Condoms, as well.”

“I’ve got those,” Richard smirks. James teases his finger around Richard’s entrance and enjoys Richard’s smirk fade and turn into something entirely more thrilling. 

“I’m going to get the lube,” James says and pushes Richard off himself. “Do not touch yourself, at all. Don’t even move.”

“I like it when you order me around in bed,” Richard mumbles, and if James didn’t know any better, he’d swear there is a blush creeping up Richard’s neck. There's a devilish grin on his face, and it shouldn’t be able to turn James on as much as it does.

“Well, I’m ordering you to stay very still indeed,” James says strictly, feeling only slightly daft. It thrills him in a weird way, and judging from Richard’s face, it seems to work for him, too. Richard goes very still on the bed, not even fluttering his eyelashes. “Good boy,” James mumbles and sees Richard swallow at the words.

It’s hard to leave the room; he is so turned on he feels ridiculous while going through his downstairs cabinets. There is lube in the house somewhere, he knows as much, but where - that is an entirely different question. When he finally sees it, it’s with a sense of both relief and dread; now it’s really going to happen, something he had always been too cowardly to even properly wish to happen.

“Got it,” he says breathlessly when he enters the room. Richard is still lying absolutely still on the bed, and god, it’s such a turn-on for Richard to be doing what he is told, when usually that’s precisely what he never does, under any circumstances. “You’re allowed to move again,” he adds with a smile, and Richard gets on his knees and kisses him hungrily, their teeth clicking together unpleasantly in their sudden haste to taste each other.

“Fuck me, James May,” Richard whispers and lies on his back on the bed, leaving James on his knees between his legs. “God, I want you so much, I’ve wanted you like this for such a long time,” Richard mumbles urgently, and it seems that once he starts talking, it’s like a floodgate has been opened. James smears a generous amount of lube on his finger, and presses it against Richard’s hole. Richard gasps.

“I’ve been imagining what it would feel like, having you inside me,” Richard says, breathing heavily, his eyes fixed on James. James pushes the tip of his finger inside of Richard’s tight entrance and Richard moans loudly. “Shit.”

“Please, just tell me if you aren’t comfortable,” James pleads, maybe more aware than ever of how stubborn and masochistic Richard can be at times, not wanting it to happen here. “We’ll go as slow as you like, and if it’s not… If you don’t - I’ll stop.”

“Stop talking nonsense,” Richard grunts, and James pushes his finger inside of him carefully. Richard squeezes his eyes shut. 

“That’s good,” he breathes, tugging himself a couple of times. His mouth is hanging half-open as James works his finger back and forth inside of him slowly. “More,” he adds after a moment.

James adds lube on his fingers and carefully pushes a second finger in. Richard hisses in pain but tells James just to go on with it, so he does, pushing two fingers inside and holding them there.

“Alright?” he asks carefully. It’s harder to tell now that Richard’s eyes are shut.

“Yes, yes,” Richard breathes. “Yeah, just. Yeah.”

James fucks Richard slowly with his fingers, scissoring him open. After a while, when Richard’s breathing has got easier, he tries to angle his fingers so that he will be able to hit Richard’s prostate, moving faster inside of him, spurred on by the moans Richard is making.

“Oh that - there, oh my god,” Richard groans, biting down on his bottom lip, and James supposes he has managed to touch Richard in the right spot. He does it again and is met with another series of low, desperate moans. “Just fucking do it, already,” Richard grits out. “I want to feel you…”

James pushes a third finger in, and it shuts Richard up. 

“Just breathe,” James says and rubs circles on Richard’s lower stomach. “Breathe, Richard, it’ll help.”

“How would you know?” Richard says and surprises James by laughing - but then, he never was one to shy away from pain. James remembers suddenly how in their early years of doing Top Gear they would go cycling around Wales, and how, on more occasions than one, Richard would fall off his bike and then just smirk at James from the bottom of a ditch. 

Laughing seems to relax his muscles, though, and James pushes further inside of him. 

“Just do it, please,” Richard tells him. “James. Please.”

James doesn’t think there is anything in the world he wouldn’t do for Richard when he is begging like that, so he removes his fingers gently. “It might be easier if you turned around,” he says quietly. He doesn’t really want Richard to turn around; he would rather be able to stare at his face to help identify if he is hurting.

“No,” Richard shakes his head, determined. “I want to see you…”

“Okay,” James says. “Okay,” he says again, this time more to himself, suddenly feeling the nerves kick in. He pushes inside Richard carefully, slowly, even though every fiber of his being wants to move faster, his cock craving friction. Richard squeezes his eyes shut again, breathing rapidly.

“Relax,” James mumbles, “relax, Richard.”

“Move,” Richard gasps after a moment, so James does, letting himself enjoy the sensation. Richard is tight and hot around him, and James knows he is not going to last long. He moves carefully, but after he realises Richard is meeting his movements and pushing back on him, he picks up the pace, trying to angle himself so that he’ll be able to hit Richard’s prostate.

“Oh, god, yes,” Richard says under his breath after a moment. More than anything, James wants to wrap his hand around Richard’s cock, but he’s holding Richard’s legs up with his arms.

“Touch yourself,” he grits out between breaths. 

Richard moans and reaches a hand down, curling his fingers around his cock. His forehead is glistening with sweat, and he’s biting down on his bottom lip, and just looking at him would be enough to make James come, he’s sure. 

“So gorgeous,” he says, fucking Richard harder at his incoherent request. “So fucking beautiful.”

Richard strokes himself in the same rhythm as James fucks him, and realising that is what sends James over the edge.

“I’m going to-” he says hastily and pulls out of Richard, because the packet of condoms lies forgotten on the bedside table. He comes over Richard’s hand and testicles, shaking violently, seeing stars. When he regains enough control of himself, he replaces Richard’s hand with his own on his dick and strokes him to orgasm, leaning down to kiss his neck. 

Richard comes moments later with a high-pitched moan, his hands buried in James’ hair. 

Afterwards, they lie like that for what feels like hours but is probably just a few minutes, James’ face buried in Richard’s neck and Richard holding him there, his hands in James’ hair, both men trying to steady their breathing. 

“I can’t believe we did that,” Richard says eventually, his voice full of stifled laughter. He sounds slightly hysterical, and James lifts his gaze to meet his eyes. “Surely I’m too old to have done that for the first time,” he adds, grinning widely.

“Are you alright, though? I didn’t hurt you, did I?” James asks, concerned. 

“A bit sore,” Richard admits, but he is smiling. “But I’m good, it was good, you were good. Wow.”

“Shower?” James asks with a smile.

“Shower,” Richard agrees and pulls James in for a lazy kiss, stroking James' cheeks with his thumbs.


	27. Chapter 27

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> James goes to Canada, but it's okay because phones exist. And, as it stands, Richard owes Jeremy a bottle of Scotch, anyway.

Richard

In the morning, James leaves to Canada.

“Which you would know about, if you’d bothered to talk to Andy,” James points out, buttoning his shirt. Richard watches him from the bed. They had slept together after showering in the night, and Richard would never admit it, but he’d really enjoyed the way James had held him close all through the night. And now, James is leaving, and Richard’s foot is cold from where it pokes out under the blanket.

“I had more important stuff to worry about,” Richard tells him with a grin, letting his head fall back on the pillow. Memories from last night have kept him half-hard all morning, but James is already late - his cab has been waiting for him outside for at least half an hour - and Richard would hate to make him miss his flight. “When are you coming back?” he asks, staring at the ceiling. The pillow smells like James.

“It’s just a couple of days,” James says, putting on his jacket. 

“And what am I supposed to do while you are gone?” Richard asks, stepping off the bed and walking to push himself against James, making sure he notices Richard’s arousal. He places his hands on James’ cheeks and pulls him down for a deep kiss.

After a few seconds, James sets his hands on Richard’s hips and pushes him away. “I’m sure you’ll think of something,” James says, trying to sound nonchalant, but to his joy, Richard notes that he’s gone completely breathless from the kiss. “Exercise some self-control, or something,” he jokes with a little smirk.

Richard snorts. “What’s that supposed to mean?” he asks, running his hands flat down James’ chest, towards his groin. James jumps back as if he’s been electrocuted and Richard laughs. “If you stayed here, we could see which one of us has issues with self-control,” he adds suggestively, wiggling his eyebrows for good measure. 

“God,” James murmurs. “You are going to be the death of me.”

“Be sure to think about last night while driving whatever the fuck you’re going to be driving,” Richard grins. 

“I’m going,” James says, but he doesn’t move. Richard raises his eyebrows, and then James leans down to kiss him.

When James actually leaves, Richard goes back to bed, wondering what to do with himself for two days until James gets back. He decides to start killing time by taking a nap. 

*

When Richard wakes up, he decides that he’s too old to spend three days idly moping after someone. So, he gets in his car and drives to the nearest off-licence. Once there, he asks the shop assistant to talk him through the best Scotch whiskies from their collection (which is not a very good one, if he is honest, but it will have to do). The poor girl looks a bit perplexed and apologises profusely after it becomes clear that the finest Scotch they have is a bottle of Johnnie Walker Red Label for £20. Richard thanks her and tells her it’s just perfect.

He punches in a text to Jeremy.

_James’ local, 10 pm. Be there or I shall drink your scotch_

Jeremy doesn’t reply to him, but Richard goes to the pub anyway, thinking it might just be Jeremy’s way of getting back to him for not picking up his phone for two days. And oddly enough, as he opens the door to the pub, smelling the alcohol and hearing the football on the telly, there already is a big oaf sitting in their usual table. Richard smiles.

“Mate,” he hollers happily, claps Jeremy on the shoulder and sits down.

“I’m merely here to collect my Scotch,” Jeremy says grumpily, but Richard knows him well enough to be able to tell he's not really angry with him. 

“Of course,” Richard says and hands him the off-licence paper bag. 

“So this means I was right,” Jeremy says and pushes a pint in front of Richard, all pretenses of grumpiness dropped.

Richard nods. “For once in your ridiculous life, you were right,” he admits, taking a sip of his beer. 

“Good,” Jeremy says, puts the bottle of Scotch in his bag, and starts talking about the Ferrari 458.

It leads to an argument, of course it does, because even though they both love the 458, they can’t come to an agreement as to _why_ it’s so brilliant. It’s a stupid thing to bicker about, but they are both enjoying the debate whole-heartedly, downing back pints and shots of various liqueurs and Tequila. Richard knows he is in trouble when Jeremy orders them a round of Jägerbombs.

“This is disgusting,” Richard says but drops his shot of Jägermeister in his Red Bull, clinks his glass against Jeremy's, raises the glass to his lips and swallows, wincing.

“I know!” Jeremy bellows happily. “Let’s have at least two more!”

"Let's!" Richard replies. "Although we'll almost certainly die!" 

It’s only when Richard has to go to the bathroom that he realises how drunk _indeed_ he is. He sits on the toilet in one of the cubicles and tries to get his phone out from his pocket, thinking he will send a text to James. It turns out his fingers aren’t really in the mood to cooperate.

_At tge pub withv jwzza. Muss yiu_

He cringes and decides that it’s better to call James instead. After a few moments of determined fumbling around, he manages to call him. When James picks up, he suddenly feels horrified - he’d completely forgot about the time difference.

“I woke you up,” he says miserably. “Sorry. Bye.”

“What an earth are you on about?” James says. “You numpty. It’s hardly evening here.”

“But the time difference,” Richard mumbles, leaning is head in is hand.

“You've been to Vancouver, Richard, you should know it's eight hours _behind_ ,” James says, laughter in his voice. “Call me a mind reader, but you are in the pub, aren’t you?”

Richard laughs. “Do you know, I am,” he admits, scratching his head and closing his eyes, focusing on James’ soft voice.

“With Jez?” James asks.

“Yeah,” Richard says. “Had to buy him a bottle of Scotch.”

“Right, okay,” James says, sounding pretty amused. 

“Stop laughing at me,” Richard snaps. “I’m jus’ a little drunk, is all.”

“I’m not laughing at you,” James says, but Richard doesn’t believe him.

“Don’t believe you,” he says firmly. “I hate you,” he adds quietly. After a moment of considering this, he adds, "Bloody fancy the pants off you, though."

“Yeah?” James prompts softly.

“Yeah,” Richard says. “I do. I miss you.”

“I miss you too, Richard.”

*

He wakes up on James’ couch the next morning, with one hell of a headache, not knowing how he ended up there or what time of day it is. He appears to still be wearing his jeans and the shirt he set out to the pub with last night. Groaning, he gets off the sofa and tip-toes to the bathroom. The bottle of Scotch he’d bought for Jeremy is sitting on the table in the bathroom, half-empty, and Richard can’t help a laugh escaping him. He can’t remember most things from last night, and he certainly doesn’t remember taking Jeremy’s Scotch home with him… nevermind drinking it, as he guesses he has. It really is a wonder he is even alive.

He goes to the kitchen, only to be in for what's possibly the biggest shock in his life.

“FUCKING HELL,” he all but screams. It’s Jeremy sleeping under James’ dining table, and Richard can’t recall the last time he has had such a proper scare. “What the actual fuck, man?”

Jeremy opens his eyes, looking around himself. He flinches and tries to get up, hitting his head on the edge of James’ table, and suddenly it’s the funniest thing Richard has ever seen, and he splits over in half laughing. 

“Shut up, you’re making my head hurt,” Jeremy complains groggily, trying to get out from under the table.

Richard just cackles, watching as Jeremy tries - and fails - to get upright. When he finally stands, he leans against the kitchen counter, closing his eyes. “Do you want to tell me what the hell I’m doing here?” Jeremy asks.

Richard wipes tears of laughter from his face and starts to go through James’ cupboards in search of some painkillers - the stronger, the better - and says, “I didn’t even know you were here! I got the shock of a lifetime, seeing your ugly mug looking like death under the table.”

“I don’t remember coming here,” Jeremy says. “I wonder how that came about.”

“I don’t know,” Richard says and laughs again. “It’s your fault, though. It was the Jägerbombs. Those things will do shit like this to you.”

“Maybe you are right,” Jeremy says and fights Richard for a second for the last couple of pills of ibuprofen, but Richard manages to throw them in his mouth before Jeremy can get his hands on them. “Oh come on,” he whines. “I hope you choke to death on those,” he adds grimly, watching as Richard swallows the pills with some water.

“Make me breakfast,” Richard says. “I need a shower, I feel icky.”

“You feel icky? I slept under _a table_!” Jeremy complains, but unbelievably, he makes his way towards James’ fridge. 

“I didn’t make you sleep under there,” Richard says, heading for James’ downstairs bathroom. “Don’t blame me.”

“You might have made me sleep under there,” Jeremy points out. “It might have been a dare. Which I probably won by sleeping there. Actually, I think you owe me fifty pounds.”

“Yeah, dream on, mate." 

*

Very late that night, Richard calls James again. He really misses him, the stupid spaniel with a mop for hair, and it’s completely ridiculous since they have gone weeks without each other without trouble. And now, he has been gone for all of two days, and Richard can’t stop thinking about him. He lies back on James’ bed, and smells his pillows, wishing James was there with him.

“Hammond,” James says when he picks up. “You are still awake.”

“Yeah,” Richard says and clears his throat. “Yeah, I just. Uh, I wanted to talk to you for a bit.”

When James replies, Richard knows he is smiling; he can tell it from his voice. “I’m glad you called,” he says. “Survived the hangover, then?”

Richard cringes. “Well, just about,” he admits. “Might have vomited in your bathroom. A bit.”

James sounds surprised to learn that Richard has been staying over at his house. 

“Yeah, well, when I woke up, I didn’t know how I ended up here, if that helps,” Richard says dryly. “And when I walked to the kitchen, there was Jeremy, sleeping under the table. I’m not making this up. I've never had a bigger shock than finding him there.”

James cackles at the other end of the line, and hearing him laugh makes Richard smile. He sighs. “I wish you were here,” he says softly, then realises how much like a thirteen-year-old he sounds, and adds, “I haven’t really stopped thinking about the other night.”

There’s a silence, dragging on for a couple of seconds, and Richard wonders whether he has crossed some invisible line. He is just about to apologise for bringing James’ mind down to the gutter, when James says lowly, “Yeah?”

“Uh huh,” Richard mumbles quickly, his stomach filling up with butterflies. “It was quite… memorable.”

“When I get back…” James says under his breath, his voice full of promise, and Richard swallows, closing his eyes. He rests the hand that is not holding the phone on his thigh. “I intend to fuck you seven ways to Sunday.”

Richard giggles a bit at that. “Oh god, James, your dirty talk needs some working on,” he points out, pinching the bridge of his nose, grinning.

“Oh, sod it,” James mumbles. “Alright,” he says. “Okay.”

“What?” Richard asks, still smiling. In that moment, he feels ridiculously fond of James, his bad dirty talk and everything. 

“I’m going to push you against a wall and tie your hands behind your back,” James says, a quick jumble of words that takes Richard a moment to decipher, but when he does, _oh god_. “And then I will blindfold you, so you can’t see what I’m doing,” James continues, and Richard lets out an involuntary breath. “And then I will push you on the bed and take off your clothes.”

“How will you take off my clothes, if you’ve tied my hands behind my back?” Richard asks, partly to disguise just how much effect James’ words are having on him.

“You bloody smart-arse, Hammond,” James breathes into the phone. “Alright, I’ll take off your pants.”

“Fair enough,” Richard says and moves his hand from his thigh to rest on his crotch.

“I’ll suck your cock in my mouth,” James whispers huskily, “and just when you are about to come, I’ll stop.”

“Oh, you bastard,” Richard says and unzips his jeans.

“I won’t touch you again until you have begged me,” James says and Richard bites his lower lip.

“And what if I don’t beg?” Richard asks, slipping a hand in his pants and curling his fingers loosely around his cock, letting out the tiniest of moans.

“You will,” James says, with unshakeable certainty in his voice. “Are you —?”

“Yeah, go on, keep talking,” Richard mumbles, pushing his pants down and grabbing himself hard. 

“When you’ve begged enough, I’ll untie your hands and put you on your knees,” James says, breathing hard, and Richard wonders whether he is touching himself, too. It certainly sounds like he could be; his breathing is irregular, his words husky. “And I will fuck you like that until I come, and only then will I permit you to touch yourself, once you’ve been properly fucked and incoherent…”

“Oh god,” Richard lets out, imaging what James is saying and imaging him sprawled out on a bed somewhere in Vancouver, telling him these things, with his hand curled around his cock in desperation. “I want you so much,” he says, his voice embarrassingly high-pitched, wanking himself in rough and quick strokes.

“I wish I was there,” James says roughly. “I’m imaging how you must look like right now.”

Richard lets out a laugh that turns into a gasp half-way. “I look ridiculous," he mumbles. "I have my pants around my knees, if you’d like to know,” he adds between breaths. 

Hearing that seems to turn James on, though, because he moans into the phone, making Richard feel dizzy with lust. “Are you touching yourself, James? You should have taken me with you. I could have been in on your meetings, under the table, sucking you off while you discussed scripts and camera angles.”

“Fuck,” James says intelligently. Richard smirks, stroking himself a bit slower. 

“I could have been waiting for you in your hotel room, preparing myself ready for you for when you got back,” Richard says. “Would you have liked that?”

“Fuck, yes,” James mumbles. His breathing has gone ragged and very irregular, and Richard thinks he might be quite close to the edge. 

“Your dirty secret lover,” Richard says lowly. “Ready to be used in any way you see fit.”

“Shit, Hammond, I’m going to come,” James says and groans low from his throat. 

“That’s it, do it, for me,” Richard mumbles quietly, incredibly turned on, feeling exhilarated. He strokes himself with some urgency, listening to James' breathing at the other end of the line.

“Oh god,” James moans, and that’s what tips Richard over the edge. He groans down the line, further turned on by the fact that James will be listening. He strokes himself softly through the aftershocks. 

When he regains control of his breathing enough to be able to speak, he says, “I can’t believe we just did that,” his voice a bit hysterical, a laugh escaping his throat.

“No, I can’t, either,” James admits after a while. “You bring all kinds of things out of me, Richard.” He says it with some fondness, and it makes Richard smile.

"Yeah?" He prompts gently. "Like what?"

James sighs contently. "I don't know. Things like talking dirty to you on the phone." James' voice is soft. "Stupid things. You make me want to _run on television_ , Richard Hammond."

Richard laughs happily. He thinks James might be bringing all kinds of things out of him, too. He's certainly never even entertained the idea of having sex with someone over the phone until now.

Until James. 

“Glad to be of service,” he says and grins.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The end of this chapter is kind of like an alternate ending for this story; the last three chapters (before the epilogue) are best seen as a sequel of sorts. :) x


	28. Chapter 28

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> James comes back from Canada, and Richard's baked him a cake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not sure if these chapters work very well, but. Well.  
> This chapter is as fluffy as it sounds, with a touch of foreshadowing... :----)

James

When James turns the key on the door of his house, he feels distinctly nervous. He knows that Richard will be waiting for him inside, and he is beyond happy about that, but it also marks a totally new page in their relationship, one that James hadn’t really thought he would ever get to have, and it is enough to put him on the edge. For a fleeting moment he considers going in with a cheerful, “Honey, I’m home!”, but discards the idea almost as soon as it hits him. It would do nothing but freak Richard out (and freak James out, too, if he is honest).

“Hey,” he calls out instead, taking off his shoes. There is no reply, and the house is quiet. It seems that there are no lights on, and James’ heart sinks as he wonders why Richard has left. Maybe he has come to the conclusion that this isn’t - they aren’t - a good idea, after all. Rubbing a hand over his face, James takes a couple of deep breaths. There is no reason to panic just yet. After all, there could be hundreds of reasons why Richard isn’t here, even though he had said he would be. It has been a while since James has checked his phone for messages, too; Richard might have left him a message and James has just managed to miss it. Still, while he struggles with his jacket and the hangar, a thousand worst-case scenarios fleet through his mind.

However, when James walks to the kitchen, he is in for a surprise. Richard is sitting at the dining table, his hands crossed in front of him on the table, and he has lit two candles on the table to the otherwise dim room. 

“Hey,” he says softly. “You are early. I ordered some curry but it isn’t here yet,” Richard explains. “I would have cooked something myself but, you know how my cooking is, it’s pot noodle or baked beans, and I thought we might go for something nicer tonight.” James smiles as Richard rambles on. It appears that he isn’t the only one slightly unnerved by the new situation between them.

“I thought about taking you out for a dinner as well,” Richard says, “but I thought you might be tired, it’s a long flight and everything, thought it might be nicer if we stayed in. But if you want, we can go out as well.” Richard scratches his head, looking up at James with his brown eyes full of uncertainty. His cheeks are flushed, and James wants nothing more than to lean down and kiss him on the lips. He doesn't, though, because there's a part of him that wants to take tonight slowly.

“This is perfect,” James says instead and watches as Richard beams at him. “I see you found some candles,” he points out. In all honesty, he is actually very touched.

“Yeah,” Richard says awkwardly, and cringes. “Yeah, it is silly, I know.”

“It’s romantic,” James says and laughs as Richard cringes again. “No, I mean it, it’s nice. Thank you, Richard.”

The doorbell rings and Richard leaps up from his seat to answer the door and pay the curry delivery guy. James sits down at the table, realising he is actually quite hungry. He can never eat properly on a flight, no matter how long. There’s a bottle of red wine on the table, and it is not one from James’ cupboard, so Richard must have gone out to buy it specifically. It’s a nice bottle, one of James' favourites, and the fact that Richard has remembered what he likes makes him smile. Richard is back soon with their curry, but he shakes his head as James reaches for the take-away container.

“I’m going to put it on a proper plate,” he says and starts going through James’ cupboards. “You just sit tight, you’ve had a long day.”

After a moment, Richard presents him with a plate full of curry. He stands next to James, shuffling on his feet for a second. “Would you like some wine?” he asks, picking up the bottle and pouring a generous amount of wine in James’ glass before James has time to reply.

“Take a seat, Richard,” James says gently. “You don’t have to play the waiter, I’d rather have you sit down with me.”

Richard snorts and sits down. “The one time I try and do something nice for you,” he grumbles, but there’s a lop-sided smile on his face. He pours wine in his own glass and raises it. He coughs. "Right, I'll let you do this one."

“To our future,” James says and clinks his glass against Richard’s. He expects Richard protest to his words, but he never does, just lifts his glass to his lips and takes a small sip, his eyes locked with James’. His hand appears to be shaking slightly and James grins. It's odd to be seeing a new side to Richard like this; James would never have guessed he'd have the power to make Richard ever so slightly nervous.

“So, tell me about Canada,” Richard says. His voice is a little bit hoarse. 

James knows what he means, of course he does, but it is a chance to be a bit of a smart-arse, and he isn’t known for letting one of those slide by. “Well,” he starts slowly, taking a sip of his wine, which is exquisite. The food is fabulous, as well. “It’s a federal parliamentary democracy and a constitutional monarchy, with the Queen as its head of state.”

“Funny,” Richard says, his mouth full of food. “You funny man.”

“You’re laughing on the inside,” James tells him. “It was pretty straight-forward filming if I’m honest, nothing too exciting happened,” he says eventually. He doesn’t mention he had spent pretty much the entire trip thinking about Richard. That would just be weird.

“Not even in the evening?” Richard asks him with a little, cheeky grin, and James almost chokes on his curry. 

“That was pretty exciting,” he admits, and decides to have some more wine.

“Pretty exciting,” Richard repeats thoughtfully, looking at James under his eyebrows. God, Richard is attractive; he is wearing a tight white shirt and not of strand of his hair is in the wrong place. James smiles at him, and Richard wiggles his eyebrows. For the first time in ages James feels content and utterly comfortable in his skin. Most of all, however, he feels lucky. There is nothing he has done to deserve any of this, to deserve Richard, and yet, here they are. James watches as Richard inhales his wine and has a violent coughing fit.

"You alright?" he asks quietly, and Richard nods. “The curry is fabulous,” James says softly after a moment. “Thank you, this is really lovely.”

Richard looks up at him. “You are welcome,” he says, his voice sincere. There is a tiny, almost shy smile on Richard’s lips, and James is met with a sudden urge to lean across the table to kiss him. 

“I would like to kiss you right now,” he says instead, monitoring closely for Richard’s reaction. He doesn’t want to freak Richard out, and he knows that their relationship needs to go forward slowly. There is no point being hasty about anything now. 

Richard looks pleased, and a smile spreads on his lips. “Well, what is stopping you?” he asks, his voice slightly cheeky, and James loves him so much it aches.

“We are eating,” James says after a moment. “If I start kissing you now, I’m not sure I’ll be able to stop; and it would be a shame if the food went cold.”

Richard nods. “I have dessert, as well,” he says. “Wouldn’t want you to miss out on that.”

“Do you?” James asks, genuinely surprised.

“Yeah,” Richard says, looking proud and slightly sheepish at the same time, which James, of course, fails to find anything but incredibly endearing. “I made it myself… it might be a bit… awful.”

“What is it?” James asks curiously, but Richard just shakes his head and takes a sip of his wine, not giving anything away. James watches him closely through the rest of the meal, observing all of his movements. It is so surreal that they are finally here, together. James couldn’t be happier. He watches Richard’s muscles flex and he has to take a deep breath to keep his mind from escaping entirely in the gutter. He wants so many things from Richard, now that he has him - he doesn’t really know where to start.

To distract himself from his impure thoughts about Hammond, James tells him about the car he had been reviewing earlier. If he is honest, he doesn’t really think Richard cares; it's not a car that is up his street. Still, talking about it helps fill the loaded silence, and Richard keeps nodding and asking questions politely - which is uncharacteristic of him. On a usual night out, he would loudly protest at the first sign of a lecture from James that he has deemed ‘boring’ (faultily, of course: James’ lectures are never boring). 

“Richard,” he says after a while, when he starts to feel too weird about it. “I’ll still let you sleep with me even if you don’t listen to all the crap I say.” He means it as a joke, but Richard doesn’t laugh, just stares at him with wide eyes. His cheeks are still flushed.

After a moment or two, he grins, to James’ relief. “Let me sleep with you? I'm the one letting you sleep with me,” he says cockily. “And well. I thought I would let you drone on a bit. You've had a long day.” He smiles warmly and pours some more wine into James’ glass. “Ready for the dessert?” he asks, jumping up from his seat and heading for the fridge. He comes back with two plates full of chocolate cake.

“Oh wow,” James says, surprised. If he had expected anything, it would have been something really simple, a pie from Tesco, or some fresh berries with caramel sauce. But Richard has made him a proper cake, and it looks great - well, Heston probably wouldn’t think so, but to James’ eyes, it looks perfect. “Did you really make this?”

“Yes,” Richard smiles. “Better not talk too highly of it until you taste it, though. I haven’t tasted it, I don’t know how it turned out, it might be terrible. I think I might have kept it in the oven a bit too long - or maybe not long enough?”

“I’m sure it is fine,” James assures him, and takes a spoonful to put in his mouth. The cake is soft, and ever so slightly moist. “It is fantastic,” he says, genuinely pleased, and feels even happier when he sees Richard’s chuffed face.

“Oh thank god,” Richard lets out. “I was fucking nervous about that, if I’m honest,” he admits. “I've literally never baked anything before. Pretty good of me to make my first attempt for you, though, isn’t it?”

“Yes, it is,” James allows him, and takes another spoonful. He is beyond himself with joy over the fact that Richard has gone through so much trouble for him; no one has ever done anything like this for him before. He tells Richard as much, and watches as Richard’s face goes serious.

“If anyone deserves this, it’s you,” he says quietly, looking slightly troubled. He coughs in his hand. "You deserve so much, James."

"God," James says, swallowing. "Hammond, come here," he says lowly, reaching out his arms. "I want to kiss you."


	29. Chapter 29

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Richard falls ill, and James deals with some ghosts from the past.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's the second to last chapter! I'll most likely post the last chapter and the epilogue at once, so be sure not to accidentally skip the chapter. :--)

James

Then Richard coughs once, holding up a hand, and James waits, looking at him with a faint smile.

"Have you been smoking again?" he asks, amused, but Richard shakes his head and turns around, his coughing fit making him double over.

"Richard, are you alright?" James asks, his smile rapidly fading as Richard wheezes in a breath.

“I'm fine," Richard says, but his face has turned red and he doesn't look fine.

James doesn't have time to ask if he's sure before Richard starts coughing again.

After a few moments, Richard sits down at the table, his face in his hands. "Okay," he says, his breathing still slightly laboured even though he's not coughing anymore. "I think I might be coming down with something."

“You think?” James says, trying his best to keep his voice light. Secretly, he's a bit worried: knowing Richard, he is likely to have ignored his body telling him he's not fine for a long time. He can be a stubborn bastard like that. “Have you made sure you haven’t got a fever?” James asks, trying to keep his voice nonchalant. He knows that if Richard realises that James is worrying about him, it will make him even more likely to just ignore his symptoms and go about his business.

“No,” he says, predictably enough. “It’s just a cold, I’m fine.”

But when James looks at him, really looks at him, there are welding beads on his forehead, and his cheeks are flushed. James had thought it might have had to do with the wine, or Richard’s nerves, but maybe it had been this all along. When Richard reaches for his wine glass, his hand is shaking slightly.

“I have a thermometer somewhere,” James announces, shoving the last spoonful of cake in his mouth and getting up before Richard can start protesting. “Wait there, I’ll go get it.”

“You really don’t have to,” Richard calls out after him, but James is already in the living room, searching through the lockers there. He finds the thermometer without much trouble and brings it back to the dining room, handing it to his very dismayed colleague. “I’m fine,” Richard mutters, but it’s not very convincing because just as he is done saying it, he starts coughing again.

“Sure,” James says, sitting down. “Just humour me, alright?”

Richard looks at the thermometer suspiciously. “This hasn’t been up your bum, has it?” he asks, wrinkling his face. “I’m willing to experiment with you, but I don’t want to start by putting a stick that’s been in your arse in my mouth.”

Trying very hard to concentrate on matters at hand and not daydream about sex with Richard, James says, “No, you idiot, of course it hasn’t. And anyway, you put it under your arm.”

“Oh,” Richard says and laughs. “I was genuinely going to stick it on my tongue. Alright. Glad we had this chat.” Richard puts the thermometer under his arm and looks up at James. His eyes are bright, and the more James thinks about it, the more certain he becomes that Richard must be running a fever. It explains his slightly out of place behaviour, and the way he looks hot even though the air conditioner is on.

It’s slightly disappointing, because if he is honest, James might have wanted to do things with him tonight a person with a fever probably shouldn’t do. Not to mention that he probably shouldn’t kiss Richard, either, to make sure whatever he has doesn’t move on to him; after all, doing studio recordings with a flu is a complete pain in the ass (James has experienced it, and he doesn’t want to do it again).

After a minute, the thermometer peeps, and Richard jumps in his seat. “Didn’t know it was going to make a noise,” he mutters and gets the thermometer out from under his arm. “Oh, okay,” he says as he reads what is on it. “Well, that explains why I feel a bit weird.”

“Let me see,” James says and Richard hands the thermometer to him, running a hand over his face. The numbers are brutal: Richard is running a fever of 38,5 degrees Celcius.

“I feel strange but not that strange, you know?” Richard is saying. “I wouldn’t have thought… I’m fine, your thermometer must be broken.”

“It’s not,” James says firmly. “Go and lie down on the couch or something, I’ll clean all of this up and get you something warm to drink, probably best not to continue with the wine.”

“But I want to continue with the wine,” Richard whines. 

“Tough,” James says, and after a few moments, Richard gives in and goes to the living room, leaving James to clean up in the kitchen. Luckily, there’s not too much to clean up, since the food was ordered in; James stacks the dirty plates in the dishwasher and blows out the candles, and puts the wine in the fridge after downing what had been left in his glass. Cleaning up and washing the wine glasses by hand takes him probably ten minutes, but when he goes to the living room, there has already been a change in Richard’s condition.

Richard is lying down on James’ couch, huddled in one of his big blankets, with his eyes squeezed shut and his teeth clacking together. He looks miserable, and much younger than his over forty years, and something inside James twists unpleasantly. 

“God, let me get you some painkillers,” James says, trying not to sound nervous and failing.

“Yeah, about that,” Richard says, opening his eyes. “Jeremy and I might have taken your last ones the other night…”

James sighs. It is clear to anyone with half a brain that Richard desperately needs something to help get his fever down, as it appears to be rising. James would drive to the nearest pharmacy, but he has had a couple of glasses of wine and it would be idiotic to risk getting caught - if he did, he would never be able to live it down, and he would most definitely lose his job over it. He supposes he could walk - but thinking about it, he isn’t sure if the pharmacy nearest to his house is a 24 hour one - in fact, he doubts it.

So, there is only one thing that James can think of. “I’ll call Sarah,” he says and predictably, Richard grumbles his protests even through his clacking teeth. 

“I’m fine,” he mutters stubbornly, drawing his knees closer to his chest. “Just a bit chilly. It’s chilly in here…”

“Your fever is rising,” James says, matter-of-factly, and sits down on the edge of the couch behind Richard’s feet. At that, Richard straightens his legs, setting his feet on James’ lap.

Sarah picks up at once, with a cheerful, “You are back!”

“Yeah, I just landed a few hours ago,” James replies. He feels a bit silly - he had already managed to forget he had been gone, with Richard’s sudden illness and his (perhaps a bit silly in itself) worry for him. “Listen, I’ve got a bit of a favour to ask you, actually.”

“Anything,” Sarah says readily.

“I need you to swing by the pharmacy for me,” James says, ignoring Richard’s complaints from next to him. 

“What, to buy you some lube? Because you think buying it yourself will end up on Mail Online? Well, James, I should say, you and Richard are doing well.” She giggles. “Don’t worry, I’ll do it, I'm just teasing you.”

“Er,” James says. “I like the way you think, and I’m touched that you would do that for me, but actually, I just need some Nurofen.”

“Oh,” Sarah says, sounding very disappointed, and a little bit worried. “Sure, I’ll go out right now. Are you coming down with something? I heard there is a really nasty flu going ‘round, my friend Lea ended up in the hospital because of it, I hope you don’t have that.”

“It’s not for me,” James says and watches as Richard buries his face in his hands. 

“I’m fine!” he says, but it’s not even remotely convincing, and he starts coughing, sitting up on the sofa.

“Oh, it's Richard. Richard's there and he's sick,” Sarah squeaks, realisation dawning on her. “Alright, okay, I’ll be around in a bit. Shouldn’t take more than half an hour.”

“Thank you, I don't know what l'd do without you,” James says and closes the line. He sets his hands on Richard’s feet under the blanket. “Would you like some tea if I put the kettle on?” he asks gently. Richard is still shivering, and his lips seem slightly blue. “It might help you feel a little warmer,” he adds, and tries not to worry too much about how Sarah had said that a flu had got her friend hospitalised. He has seen Richard in a hospital once, and he really, really doesn’t want to ever see him lie on those white sheets of doom again. 

“Okay,” Richard whispers through his teeth. “If I’m honest, James, I don’t feel too good right now…”

“You’ll be fine,” James says softly and disentangles himself from under Richard’s limbs to go and put the kettle on. “Sarah will be around with the painkillers in a few moments. Things will look better once we get your fever down.”

In the kitchen, trying to find some nicer tea bags than the PG Tips he has for morning consumption, James tries to remember whether you are supposed to keep a person running a fever warm - or whether it's the other way around, that they should be kept cool, in order to ensure that the fever won’t rise further. He really has no idea. James knows that his mum would know, but he isn’t about to call her and ask her at half eleven in the night. Thinking about how the discussion would go makes him smile.

_‘Hey, mum. Yeah, it’s a bit weird time to call. Yeah, I’m fine. I just wanted to ask that when you have a fever - no, mum, I don’t have a fever, I’m fine. So, when you have a fever, are you supposed to - no, it’s Richard, he has a fever, not me. Are you supposed to keep the person warm or - he is just staying over, mum, and he is sick. No, I’m not sleeping with him, well… not while he’s sick anyway - yes, mum, I know, it’s lovely, he is lovely. Are you supposed to keep the person warm or cool?’_ And well, yeah, tonight isn't the right time for that call. 

So instead he takes Richard’s cup of tea to the living room and sits himself back down behind Richard’s feet, and goes to Google on his phone. Most sites seem to agree that the correct thing to do is to lower the room’s temperature and try and keep the person (well, alright, they are mostly talking about children and babies, but James assumes the same applies to stubborn 42-year-olds) as cool as possible.

“Get off your phone and give me a foot massage,” Richard says tiredly. “You are not looking up how to handle a fever, are you? Because I'm going to have to kill you if you are.”

“No,” James says, but he's pretty sure Richard can tell he's lying. He crams the phone back in his pocket with difficulty and sets his hands on Richard’s feet. “A foot massage,” he muses and watches as Richard nods with his eyes closed. “Alright then,” he mumbles and removes Richard’s socks, then places his hands to the foot closest to him and starts kneading it with slow, circular movements.

“Oh yeah, that is nice,” Richard says quietly, not opening his eyes. He is still shivering slightly, but his teeth have stopped clacking together, and James supposes that must be a good sign. After a moment, he moves his hands onto Richard’s other foot. He supposes it ought to be a bit disgusting, to have his hands on Richard’s no doubt dirty feet, but for some reason it isn’t. He is just happy to be able to provide some light relief to him. After a moment, he takes the blanket off Richard, and is immediately met with series of loud complaints. “James! What did you do that for? I’m cold.”

“I’m sorry,” James mumbles, kneading the back of Richard’s foot. “But it is better if you try and keep as cool as possible.”

“I fucking knew you were looking it up,” Richard mutters, crossing his hands on his chest to try and keep warm. “You are a fucking idiot, and I am fine. Give me my fucking blanket.”

Thankfully, that is when the doorbell rings, and James goes to answer the door. Sarah presents him with two bags full of stuff.

“Er,” James says. “You do know a packet of Nurofen would have done it…”

“Don’t mention it,” Sarah says and tries to look over James’ shoulder. She lowers her voice. “Is he there? How is he?”

“He’s fine,” James says. “At least he claims so.”

“Okay,” Sarah says and leans to kiss James on the cheek. “I know it's not the right time for this, but James, I've met someone.”

A smile spreads on James' face as he looks at his friend, her face glowing with barely contained excitement. "I'm so happy for you," he says and leans in to give her a hug.

She beams at him. "I'll leave you to it," she whispers in his ear. "But call me later, and I'll tell you everything."

James promises to do that and goes to look through the bags in the kitchen in search of some painkillers. Sarah appears to have bought him everything from ibuprofen to throat lozenges and those painkillers that you stir with water and drink, as well as some nasal spray, and - James shakes his head - two tubes of lubricant. James takes a couple of pills out of one of the packets and takes them to Richard with a glass of water.

“Here,” he says and Richard opens his eyes. He has huddled himself inside the blanket again, shivering from cold. He looks miserable, and more than anything, James wants to hold him close - even though it is stupid, because he doesn’t want to catch whatever Richard has. But looking at him is making him antsy, and holding him would make him feel better, he is sure. “Take these. You'll feel better in no time.”

James expects to be mocked for fussing over Richard, but Richard just thanks him weakly, struggling to get to an upright position. James has never seen him as sick. Still, in an hour or so, his fever should start to go down. He takes a deep breath and tells Richard to drink all the water, sitting down next to him on the couch.

“I feel pretty shit, if I’m honest,” Richard mumbles, closing his eyes again. “I thought I’d be alright, I’ve been keeping busy all day. It seems that once I sat down this thing caught up with me.” He coughs into his hand. “Sorry. I wanted tonight to be special - and now…”

James shushes him quiet and wraps his arm around Richard’s shoulders. Richard drops against him readily, leaning against James’ side, his head resting on James’ shoulder. He is hot against James, and a solid weight. “You are warm…” Richard mumbles, his eyes closed. “I’ll just stay here…”

James pulls him closer, feeling how Richard shivers against him. Talking to him about everything and nothing in particular all at once, he tries to calm down both Richard and himself. It doesn’t matter that he knows that the nagging nervousness prickling inside of his skin is futile and most likely just plain silly. It is almost like the last six years never happened. An image of Richard lying in a hospital bed keeps bothering him, flashing up in his mind uninvited, his stomach in tight knots as he remembers Richard pale and his eye fucked up, connected to a variety of tubes, machines beeping ominously around him. James takes a deep breath. He thinks he might be working through some issues he never really worked through, just buried deep to the back of his mind.

After an hour or so, when Richard is still shivering, his teeth clattering ever so slightly when he attempts to talk, and he feels alarmingly hot against James’ side, James decides that it would probably be a good idea to see if there has been a change in his temperature. Richard doesn’t complain when he gets the thermometer and puts it under Richard’s arm. After a minute it makes a noise, and Richard hands the thermometer over to James without looking at it himself.

James swallows. Richard’s fever has risen to 39,6 degrees and the painkillers don’t seem to be helping. “Right, okay,” he says, mostly to himself, and stands up. Feeling helpless and slightly panicky, James tries to decide what he should do. It’s just after one am, so he can’t really call his doctor, and he definitely can’t take Richard to the emergency room without causing one hell of a stir and getting them both plastered on the news pages tomorrow.

“How are you feeling?” he asks Richard carefully. He knows that if Richard starts to show signs of lowered consciousness, he will have to take him to a doctor right away, damned be the consequences.

“Not that cold now,” Richard says, looking up at James with big, brown eyes. “Come back here, James. Please.”

James sits down next to him and pulls him close, not really caring anymore whether he catches what Richard has or not. 

“Don’t think I’ve been this sick… ever,” Richard mumbles into James’ neck, his lips against James' skin. He coughs a bit. “James,” he says suddenly, pulling away and looking terrified. “My chest hurts.”


	30. Chapter 30

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys have to overcome one, final hurdle. But will it stick them tighter together or will something snap?

Richard & James

_Richard_

Everything happens really quickly. Richard sits on the sofa, holding his ribs, trying to breathe normally and failing, his breathing coming in short gasps. He is hot and cold at the same time, and it’s hard to focus on anything other than the sudden pain in his side. James is pacing around the living room, talking to someone on the phone.

“I’ve called an ambulance,” he says and touches Richard’s cheek with his fingertips. Richard nods tightly, wanting to cry. “You will be alright,” James tells him and he smiles, but it looks forced and it never reaches his eyes, and it makes Richard want to cry all the more. It's like he is six again and in a ditch after falling off his bike; he feels utterly helpless and scared, and not like an adult at all.

“I feel weird,” Richard chokes out and James sits down next to him, holding him close. He smells familiar and comforting, and he keeps talking to Richard, but he catches only a few words here and there. ‘Richard’, ‘alright’, ‘hang in there’, ‘will be here soon’.

Before Richard knows it, he is lowered down on a stretcher, paramedics asking him complicated, wordy questions he has no answers to. Trying to answer to the best of his ability, Richard is taken into the ambulance. 

“Don’t worry,” James’ voice is near him, but Richard can’t focus his gaze on anything. His chest feels as though it's on fire, and it's hard to breathe. “I’m here.”

“James,” Richard says. His chest is on fire, it must be. "I can't breathe."

And then nothing.

*

_James_

Minutes drag on, feeling like hours, as James waits for the ambulance to arrive at his house. James sits on the couch, glancing at the clock every two seconds, his heart racing, his hand shaking as he strokes Richard's scalp. Richard is leaning against his side heavily, clutching his chest, his eyes squeezed tightly shut. He looks pale, now, when just a few moments ago he'd looked flushed, and James doesn't know what to make of that. His skin is hot, _too_ hot, and James swallows, feeling helpless.

“Richard, you are going to be alright,” James says, and his voice wavers. He should have taken Richard to A&E when he still had a chance. God - how could he be so stupid? He'd had a bad feeling about the whole thing from the beginning, and yet he'd done nothing to help. _This is all my fault_ , James thinks feverishly. Richard shivers against his side, his breathing alarmingly rapid and shallow, and for a moment James is sure he's going to throw up. _This is all my fault._ “Hang in there, man. The ambulance will be here soon. I promise.” There is a lump in his throat, and he holds Richard tighter, closer to him. “You will be fine,” he whispers, and almost bursts in tears. He doesn’t think Richard can hear him.

He runs to the door when he hears the sirens, and then he's shoved out of the way. His house turns into a blur of men and women moving quickly and shouting at Richard to open his eyes, connecting him to tubes and machines. They lower him down on a stretcher and talk in medical jargon that James doesn't understand. He watches the scene unfold through gaps between his fingers, feeling light-headed and nauseous. He's terrified, absolutely petrified beyond anything he's ever felt before, and his knees feel weak. James watches as Richard tries to reply to the paramedics’ questions. Most of what he says is incoherent nonsense.

_This is all my fault._

“Sir,” someone says to James suddenly and he flinches. “We will have to take him to the hospital. Would you like to accompany him in the ambulance?”

“Yes,” James says quickly, following everyone outside. He locks the door hastily before climbing to the back of the ambulance, sitting down on a bench that's offered to him in the corner. "What's wrong with him? Is he going to be alright?"

"Just stay calm," someone tells James, and he wants to scream. Instead he takes Richard's hand, not giving a toss about what anyone might think, what he might be giving away. 

“Don’t worry,” he says lowly. “I’m here…”

“James,” Richard mumbles in reply and James wants to cry. "I can't breathe..." His eyes fall shut, and someone says that they might have to intubate, and James has watched enough Holby City to know what that means, and he turns his gaze away, unable to watch. He's so scared he can hardly understand anything that's going on around him, and before he knows, he is running along long, ascetic hospital corridors, trying to keep up with the doctors and Richard. They take Richard in a room and James tries to follow but he gets stopped at the door by a stern looking woman. 

“Let me in," James says, perhaps foolishly, but the woman doesn't move.

“I'm sorry," she says, but she doesn't sound sorry at all, and for a moment James hates her for making him feel so utterly helpless. "You're going to have to wait outside. Are you family?"

"No," James grits out. "No, but - please, I -"

"I'm sorry," she says, but James doesn't think she's sorry at all. How could she be? She doesn't know him, she doesn't know _Richard_.

James doesn't realise he's started crying until she hands him a tissue.

*

*

*

_Richard_

There is a lot of bleeping around him. 

He feels comfortable, warm, and safe. 

Someone is talking to him, but Richard can’t quite make out the words. It sounds nice, though, comforting.

He smiles.

“Richard, are you awake?”

It’s James; he can tell, and it makes him smile more. James. He loves James.

“I love you,” he mumbles, needs him to know that.

“I love you, too,” James tells him.

Richard smiles.

*

_James_

“He spoke to me,” James tells the nurse, elated. 

The nurse gives him a small smile. “His fever has gone down, and the antibiotics are working on his pneumonia. You'll have to talk to his doctor about when you can expect him to be released, but everything looks good."

“Oh thank god,” James sighs. It’s been the longest night and day of his life - safe for the days in the hospital in Leeds, six years ago - and the relief, when it washes over James, is overwhelming. He sits back in his chair and takes his phone out of the pocket of his jeans, to send a text to Mindy, knowing that she will be worried beside herself, just like he once was all those years ago, waiting for updates to him from her.

“Hey,” Richard says after a moment and James flinches, quickly leaning forward in his chair. There is a hint of a smile on Richard’s lips, his eyelids droopy, gaze unfocused. James suddenly wants to ruffle Richard's hair.

“Hey - how are you feeling?” James asks quickly. “Your fever is down, you’ll be fine.”

“I’m comfy,” Richard tells him, closing his eyes and drawing in a deep breath. “And good, I feel good.”

“That would be the meds,” James laughs. He is so relieved to see Richard awake and talking to him that he feels dizzy with it. “God, mate, you gave me a scare. Please never do that again.” He looks around to see if anyone is near-by just in case, before reaching out to touch Richard’s arm.

Richard looks at where James is touching him. “I like your hands,” he sighs, happily, and okay, it is pretty evident that he has been strongly medicated. “Feel free to put them on me any time.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” James snorts, then goes serious again. “I’m so glad you are okay.”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Richard says lightly and smiles. “I’m always okay.”

“Not always,” James says quietly. He thinks about six years ago, and now, and the years worth of nightmares he has endured. The sleepless nights and the weird, uncomfortable feeling at the pit of his stomach whenever he's watched Richard drive fast in a straight line. “Not always, Richard.”

Richard looks at him seriously, his eyes large. “It was six years ago, James,” he says quietly, catching on quickly despite his medication. “Six years ago. I’m fine.”

“I know,” James says, embarrassed, avoiding Richard's eyes. "It's not rational."

“I promise you never have to worry about me,” Richard says firmly and turns towards him, coughing slightly at the movement. His voice sounds soft around the edges, and James has a distinct feeling that this is not how the discussion would be going if Richard hadn't just woken up, strongly medicated. “Promise me you won’t worry about me,” Richard says, with surprising intensity, staring at James with the blacks of his eyes wide.

“I promise,” James says quietly, and it is like something inside of him unlocks. He has been carrying around guilt and helplessness over Richard and his accident for years, but now he is being given permission to let go of it, and he thinks he does. It’s like a weight has been lifted off his shoulders. Richard smiles at him, his hair disheveled, and James wants to kiss him.

“Good,” Richard says and lies back down. “The room is spinning slightly,” he notes happily and closes his eyes. “I’m glad you are here,” he muses softly and he sounds genuine, almost child-like in his sincerity. “I love you,” he adds, after a moment, like he is tasting the words in his mouth.

James flinches and can’t quite believe he is hearing the words out of Richard’s mouth. It’s one thing for him to mutter them under his breath while unconscious, but for him to say them out loud so readily - albeit drugged - is enough to make James dizzy for a whole new set of reasons.

It takes him too long to reply. “I love you too,” he sighs, and Richard nods contently.

“Yeah, I know,” he mumbles, his eyes still closed. “I know.”

James never has a nightmare about Richard's crash again.

*

*

*

One week later

_Richard_

“James, I know you want me,” Richard moans, his hands on James’ hips. He is horny as hell, and trying to coax James into having sex with him. Without much luck, as it stands. “Don’t leave me hanging, please…”

“The doctor said you need to rest, Hammond,” James says and keeps doing the dishes in front of him. Richard leans to breathe into his neck hotly, his lips against James' skin.

“The doctor said I could do normal stuff,” Richard says lowly, just under James’ ear, and to his joy he notices James shivering ever so slightly. “Sex is normal stuff, I’ll have you know.”

“The doctor said no exercise whatsoever,” James says. Richard knows he is right, of course; but he really is horny and teasing James and giving him balls as blue as the ones he is having to go around in is good fun. Besides, Richard feels fine; the antibiotics have clearly done their trick in the past few days.

“And sex with you is exercise, is it?” Richard mocks quietly, and runs his hands down James’ sides. He smirks, utterly pleased with himself, as James turns around to face him.

“Careful, or I won’t even kiss you,” James tells him, rolling his eyes. He is smiling, though. “Actually, I probably shouldn’t, anyway, I might catch… shortness.”

Richard pinches his arm. “Funny,” he says. “Very funny, ha, ha.

“That hurt, actually,” James says, and Richard decides he needs shutting up, so he pulls James down by his collar and kisses him roughly, until they are both breathless. God, he is turned on - it’s ridiculous. He is almost forty-three and recovering from a severe case of pneumonia, and here he is, trying not to dry-hump against James.

“You are impossible,” James mumbles under his breath. “Why I put up with you, I don’t know.”

“Luckily, I can tell you why,” Richard says, pressing his crotch against James’ thigh so he can feel his erection, smirking as James’ eyes go wide. “You love me, that’s why,” he whispers. “You told me, remember?”

James lifts his hands on Richard’s hips. They are wet with soapy water, but Richard doesn’t mind. 

“You can’t mock me about that,” James says. “Especially not with that,” he looks down at Richard’s crotch meaningfully, “and not in any way, ever, because you said it first.”

“I was drugged up to my eyeballs, I didn’t know what I was on about,” Richard smirks, enjoying tormenting James more than he probably should. “You were of sound mind when you said it.”

James shrugs. “Well,” he says simply. “I do.”

“Do you?” Richard asks, slightly surprised, and really, really delighted.

“Yeah,” James says, licking his tongue over his bottom lip. “I love you.”

Richard leans in to kiss him. “Listen carefully, you silly old goat,” he says softly, stroking James’ cheekbone with his thumb. When he says the words he means them more than anything he has ever uttered before.

“I love you, too, James May.”


	31. Chapter 31

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, that's it, then! I'm so relieved it's finally all posted!
> 
> I just wanted to say thank you _so much_ everyone who's read this. I sort of didn't think anyone would, and it's staggering to me that some people have. Also, thank you so much to every kind soul who has left a comment (or kudos) at any point, just. Wow. You've been incredibly kind, helpful, and encouraging. Also, sorry for any and all typos and grammar mistakes throughout the story. English isn't my first language, so I'm sure that there are some; thank you for tolerating them. :)

**EPILOGUE**

Jeremy

At exactly 07:11 on a Friday morning, Jeremy sits down on the sofa in the presenters’ room in Dunsfold Park. He sips on his Red Bull, his second can for the morning. He has a god-awful hangover after a boozy catch-up with Jimmy Carr last night. His head throbbing like mad, and he thinks that being dead would probably be preferable to his current state. He groans, and takes a few more sips of the Red Bull.

What makes everything a thousand times worse is that his stupid copresenters are nowhere to be seen, and neither is Andy. They had all agreed that they would start at seven o'clock sharp, and it is pretty aggravating to be the first one to arrive when he could have spent all of these precious minutes huddled inside his blankets at home. He sends a quite aggressive text to Andy after he fails to pick up the phone when Jeremy tries to call him. Wondering whether this is all just a practical joke of some sort, his friends’ idea of a funny prank, Jeremy downs the rest of his Red Bull and heads towards the Moccamaster to make some coffee. 

At exactly 7:24, Andy arrives. When Jeremy complains at him, he just shrugs and tells him that he should get off his high horse since it’s usually Jeremy who everyone has to wait for, and alright, fair enough. Jeremy offers his friend coffee but Andy refuses and leaves to sort out stuff with the film crew, leaving Jeremy twiddling his thumbs and going through the day’s headlines on his phone. Nothing of any relevance whatsoever has happened, judging by the fact that the most viewed article for the morning is a report of a cute cat video. Jeremy sighs, deciding once and for all that the world has gone to tatters.

He hasn’t heard from either James or Richard in a few of weeks, but he supposes that in their case no news might be good news. Jeremy heard from Andy that Richard had apparently been ill with something or the other, and they had postponed filming, but other than that, there has been a total radio silence. He certainly hopes the stupid morons have finally managed to sort things out, since they have been mucking about with it for such a long time. Jeremy thinks they will in all likelihood be able to make each other happy, if they just stop being idiots about the whole thing. 

When at exactly 7:51 Richard and James deem it suitable to actually arrive, they come through the door together, laughing at something that has Richard almost doubled over. It is instantly clear that they have managed to work things out, and for the best, and it takes Jeremy considerable effort to stifle a smile and maintain an annoyed face.

“Seven am sharp, we said,” he points out. “I’ve been here since, let’s see… fucking hell, I’ve been here since seven am _sharp_.”

“Sorry, Jezza,” James says in a tone that makes it very clear he is not actually sorry at all. He glances at Richard with a crooked smile on his face. “We had a bit of trouble deciding which one of us should drive down here…”

That makes Richard giggle, high-pitched and slightly embarrassed, and like he can’t believe James is actually saying that, and wow, Jeremy _really_ doesn’t want to know why.

“Christ, shut up, James,” Richard says and gives James a meaningful look.

“There is coffee in the thing,” Jeremy says. “See what a good human being I am.”

“Yes, you are,” Richard nods and leaps towards the coffee machine before James, who rolls his eyes in mock-exasperation and wrestles Richard for the last clean mug. Richard wins, of course, throwing his hands in the air with a delighted, “Yeeeeees!” Then he proceeds to hand James a paper cup with a small grin, elbowing him in the ribs.

“Oh good god,” Jeremy moans. “Could you two stop being so bloody happy so early in the morning?”

Richard laughs and turns to him, taking a sip of his coffee with his eyebrows cocked. Jeremy watches as James blushes slightly, but Richard just smirks.

“You might want to get used to that,” he says, giving James a fond look.

It is incredibly hard to stifle a smile, and Jeremy doesn’t think he quite succeeds.


End file.
